Year Abroad
by EdwardCullen'sLove
Summary: A French boyfriend-That's what my mission for junior year in Paris. So why do I keep running into boring Edward Cullen from my boring high school back home? Okay, okay, he's not exactly boring.So why does it bother me that he wants to date a Parisian god?
1. Chapter One: Paris!

So, this is my very first fanfic! I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Twilight characters. But I do own A Robert Pattinson poster!

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><p><strong>One<strong>

I was afraid. Shaking in my boots afraid. The reality had finally hit home. Or should I say, it had hit Paris.

Paris, France! City of Light. City of romance. City of my dreams.

I hadn't realized until this moment as I stared out the window of my new bedroom how terrified I would be. Or how alone.

I Isabella Swan, born and raised in tine Forks, Washington, had never ventured beyond the Washington boarder, and here I was, thousands of miles from said boarder. It was beyond comprehension. Terribly exciting! And incredibly frightening.

I had been looking forward to this moment for so long that I was having a difficult time reconciling the terror that was gripping me. With a lot of cajoling, pleading and promises, never to ask for anything else as long as I lived, I'd managed to convince my parents to let me take part in the Year Abroad program. Paris had been my city of choice-for its art, but more important, for its romantic guys.

For a whole year I would go to a school in Paris-starting tomorrow. And that realization was what had me scared spitless.

I would attend a new school where I didn't know anyone! My best friend Angela Weber, was spending the year in London. My other best friend-after all, a girl can have more than one best friend-Rosalie Hale was on her way to Rome. Maybe she was already there. I wondered if she was scared. I can't imagine Rosalie being frightened of anything.

Of course, I hadn't expected to be frightened myself. I tried to draw comfort from the Eiffel Tower-outlined in lights-silhouetted against the night sky. The artist in me appreciated the view. The girl in me longed to see the vast Washington night sky, feel the cool Washington rain against my skin, and pick up the phone to call a friend. But long-distance phone calls were expensive and totally out of the question on a regular basis. Emergency only to friends. Once a week to parents.

I couldn't quite bring myself to classify these jitters as an emergency. Even though I thought I had a good chance of bringing up the foie gras I'd eaten for dinner. The French considered it a real gourmet item. Me, I hadn't been too thrilled when the meal was over to discover I'd wolfed down fatted goose liver.

Absorbing a culture was part of being a Year Abroad student. It required a strong stomach, a stout heart, lots of courage, and a desire for adventure. Angela, Rosalie, and I had made a pact to email each other at least once a day in order to keep our morale boosted-and to share these exciting moments.

I glanced around my room. The wallpaper was a mosaic of blues and purples. The host family had to guarantee that a YA student would have her own room. I couldn't believe that this one was so tiny. But that was typical for the French who lived in the cities. Small houses or apartments were all this city of over two million people could find room for. Two million. I could barely comprehend that number. My hometown bragged a population of three-thousand-five hundred and thirty-two.

This small home had several balconies. Even my room had a balcony. I imagined a romantic French guy climbing the tree outside my room, clambering over the railing of the balcony, and reciting poetry.

Okay, so I was getting a little carried away, but it was hard not to! My bedroom had a canopied bed-so romantic! Even the poster of the Backstreet Boys on the wall sent my romantic yearnings into overdrive. I had a small desk where I'd already set up my laptop computer so I could easily email my friends.

My very own room. Back at home in Forks, I had to share my room with my younger sister. That hadn't always been the case. Before my parents got divorced, I had my own room, but everything changed with the divorce. My parents had to sell our family home in order to buy two houses-one small one for my mom, my sister, and me and an even smaller one for my dad. I resented the divorce sometimes, felt like my parents should have tried harder to keep us together as a family. I thought of all the things we'd have if they'd pooled their money instead of having to purchase two of everything: house, furniture, appliances.

Their divorce had also added to the stress of my getting into the YA program. I'd ask Mom for permission to apply to the program, and she'd tell me to discuss it with my father. Before the divorce, she always called him "your dad." After the divorce, he became "your father." So unfriendly sounding.

When I'd asked my dad about being in the YA program, he'd tell me to talk to my mother. Same things. Before the divorce, he called her "your mom." Then she became "your mother."

They weren't outwardly mean to each other, and I wasn't irreversibly scarred by the divorce or anything, but those small things told me they weren't in love anymore. And that sorta hurt sometimes.

I was a big believer in love. My first foray into the experience had been with Jacob Black, and it had been a disaster. I think I wanted to be in love so badly that I convinced myself he was the one, and he out to be such a jerk. The final straw had been dumped in my lap the day after Valentine's Day, when he brought me a red-heart-shaped box of chocolates. I'm a sucker for chocolate, especially when it comes in a heart-shaped box with a plastic rose glued on top. But knowing that he waited until the _after_ Valentine's Day so he could get it half price made me feel…well, unloved. I figured if you cared about someone, you didn't skimp on the things that counted-like making her feel special.

But Jake was out of my life now, and Paris was in, and with this city came the opportunity to meet, date, and fall in love with a romantic guy. I knew our time would come to an end when I had to return home after I completed my year abroad.

But until that final moment came, I would know what it was like to be loved and romanced. To have someone who was willing to pay full price for my chocolate. I could hardly wait to meet Mr. Romantic.

But before I meet the perfect guy, I had to get down to the tedious task of unpacking my clothes.

A knock sounded, and I was grateful for the reprieve. I hurried across the room and opened the door.

My host sister, Alice Renee Hale-Trouvel, stood in the doorway.

"How's it going?" she asked with a wonderful French accent.

"_Très bien_," I responded. Very well. I hadn't taken two years of French at Forks High for nothing.

Alice laughed. She had short, spiky black hair and dancing blue eyes. "You can practice your French on me, and I'll practice my English on you."

I sagged and smiled wearily. "I'm really too tired to concentrate on French tonight. I wish I'd had a few days to adjust before school started." But a few more days might have just made me more nervous. Besides, I'd enjoyed the layover in London., Angela, Rosalie, her host brother, Emmett, and I had gone to the Tower of London. And Rosalie had really needed the support of friends when she realized that Emmett was such a huge guy and the attraction she had to him. I was still a little worried about her. She had this crazy notion that she wanted into turn Princess Di while she was in London—instead of just being wonderful herself.

"I haven't even started to unpack," I explained to Alice. "I was too busy admiring the spectacular view through my window."

"Do you have a like this from your bedroom at home?" she asked in halting English.

"Are you kidding? I asked "Trees, sky, and street lights— that's about all you can see from my window."

"I thought you would see eagles and things like that," she murmured, stepping farther into the room.

"Nope, just _lots_ of trees and rain." I said smiling warmly.

"I must go there someday," she said wistfully.

"Sure. When you visit, you can stay with me," I offered.

I walked to the bed and opened my suitcase.

Alice squealed and pulled out one of my denim vests. It had ropes embroidered along the front.

"How cute!" she exclaimed. "A cowboy would wear this."

"I have a lot of western-looking clothes, I told her. "You can wear that one."

Her blue eyes grew really large. "Really?" She hugged the denim to her chest. "_Merci! _But I have nothing to let you wear."

I raised my brows. "Not true. I've been drooling over that miniskirt since I met you at the airport."

"This old thing?" she asked.

_This old thing_ as she called it, was a deep emerald green skirt that stopped at midthigh. Very chic! I had a lime green sweater that would be perfect with it. Back in Forks, I'd be wearing jeans to class, but here the weather was a bit warmer than I was used to.

"Could you teach me how you tie that scarf around my neck?" I inquired. I had been admiring that fashion statement as well.

Alice touched the silk at her throat as if incredibly surprised. I worked part-time in a clothing store, and I figured I should really know how to add the little touches to items of clothing that made them seem so unique, but I'd never mastered it. Whenever I tried something, the bow or the knot always looked askew.

"_Oui._ I can teach you," she assured me, her eyes alight. She quickly untied the scarf and slid it from around her neck. "Come to the mirror."

I hurried to the dresser and stood before the mirror, which only showed me from the waist up. I could get my unpacking done later!

Alice and I were almost the same height and build, but I was a little bit taller than her. She slipped the scarf around my neck, and tied with a tiny knot, and stepped back. "_Bon."_

Oh, it was _très bon._ With the knot in the side of my throat and the ends flowing over my shoulder, I looked sophisticated. "This is wonderful! Do it more slowly so I can watch."

Laughing, she untied the scarf and started over.

She tugged on one end of the scarf. "This end goes on bottom, this end on top. The one on the top goes over the one on the bottom. Otherwise they both stick up like a bad-hair day."

I giggled. I'd been so afraid that I wouldn't have anything in common with my host sister, and here we were, discussing fashion accessories. She taught me several different ways to arrange the scarf. It was so exciting. Sometimes I even looked like a model.

"This will help me so much," I murmured, studying my stylish reflection in the mirror.

Alice wrinkled her brow. "Help you what?"

I hadn't planned to bare my soul so soon, but I felt incredibly comfortable around Alice. I spun around and met her gaze. "If I tell you, you have to promise not to laugh."

She pressed her palm over her heart. "I promise."

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><p><strong>End Notes:<strong>

So what do you think so far? Don't worry! Edward makes his appearance soon!

Oh and reviews would be awesome!

**Translations:**

**_Très bien_= very well**

**Merci=Thank You**

**Oui=Yes**

**Bon=Good**

**_très bon_=Very good**

**foie gras= fattened duck liver. I've had this, and let me tell you, if your aren't use to French cuisine, it can be a bit weird tasting, along with the snails! Which by the way, tastes like a balloon unless you eat it with a garlic butter sauce!  
><strong>


	2. Chapter Two: No!

**R/E: Soo... here's chapter two! Also I forgot to put the translations for chapter one, so I will fix that! **

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><p><strong>Two<strong>

I took a deep breath and blurted out, "I want to fall in love while I'm in Paris."

"Fall in love?" Alice repeated.

I nodded quickly. "A year of romance like I'd never get in little Forks, Washington. I want a guy who doesn't mumble one-word sentences like "yep" and 'nope.' A guy who doesn't think that 'roses are red, violets are blue' is a romantic poem."

Her mouth fell open. "Are American guys like that?"

I dropped onto the edge of the bed and nodded balefully. "They are in Forks."

"They nothing of romance?" she asked. Clearly unable to believe it. Her action reinforced what I'd already thought—Paris guys knew how to love right.

"They know absolutely nothing!" I reassured her.

"It was a romantic date if my former boyfriend, Jacob the Jerk Black, belched only three times during our meal."

Laughing, she fell across the bed and raised up an elbow. "I cannot believe this!"

"Believe it," I retorted. "This year I want to experience what I will never find in Forks. Someone who can whisper romantic French phrases into my ear. Someone who knows the art of romance."

I knew that dating a Paris guy would mean heartbreak at the end of the year when we had to say goodbye, but for this one year I would be romanced and cherished as I had always dreamed.

~oOo~

_**Bella**_

I stood in front of the mirror the next morning, barely able to believe my eyes. My clothes were still packed, but I'd managed to find my lime green sweater. I was wearing Alice's emerald green miniskirt and my silver belt that I usually wore with denim, but somehow it looked right with this outfit. And the scarf was tied daintily around my neck. Alice had loaned me a hunter green felt beret. It sat jauntily on top of my mahogany hair.

I'd applied my makeup to perfection. My outfit of varying green shades highlighted the faint green flecks in my eyes. I knew I was going to turn heads today for sure. By the end of the week Mr. Romance would be walking up to me and whispering those romantic French phrases in my ear.

A knock on the door broke me from my fantasy.

Alice peered into the room. "We need to eat breakfast and head to school."

I turned slowly. "What do you think?"

"You look terrific!" she assured me.

"I'm nervous as a dog dreamin' of catchin' a rabbit," I confessed.

She laughed. "You Americans have the funniest sayings."

I smiled. "That's probably more a Texan saying than American." I said laughing.

"Even so, you don't look nervous," she told me.

I grabbed my backpack and followed her into the hallway. "I'm only going to be here a year, so it's important that I impress some guy right away," I explained.

"Love takes time," she muttered.

"I don't have time," I emphasized as we went down the stairs. Besides, I wasn't looking for an until-death-do-us-apart kind of love. I only wanted romance.

"_Bonjour!"_ Madame Hale-Trouvel said when we walked into the small kitchen. It looked much like our kitchen in Forks. Tiled-covered counters, cupboards an island that resembled a butcher's block in the middle. "_Comment allez-vous, _Bella?"

How are you? "_Très bien," _(I am good) I assured her my host mother.

"Wonderful! Sit down and eat," she ordered.

Monsieur Trouvel and Alice's sister, Geneviève, joined us. Geneviève was two years younger than Alice, and in a way she reminded me of my sister, Jessica. I hadn't expected to miss Jessica. We fought more often than we agreed, but I guess that's what sisters are for.

I brought a blue bowl-shaped cup to my mouth and sipped café au lait. Basically it's coffee with a generous amount of milk. It warmed me, chasing away the chill of dread that was trying to creep over me. I dug into my food. If I concentrated on the moment and didn't think about the future, I thought I might make it to school without throwing up.

"Are you ready for your first day at Alice's school?" Monsieur Trouvel prodded.

_So much for concentrating on the moment. _I thought to myself. My stomach knotted up at the reminder, and I knew I was finished with breakfast. I smiled kindly at Alice's father. He had hair like Alice and the same deep blue eyes. I hadn't expected it to be so hard to sit at a table with a complete family. "As ready as I'll ever be."

With apprehension mounting, I walked through the halls of the lycée—the French equivalent of Forks High School with a little twist. Only the top students attended. They were preparing to take the baccalaureate exams that would determine whether or not they could go to university.

On my way to my first classe or class, I realized that I wasn't ready for my first day at a Paris school. It was more than nerves and jitters. It was a complete lack of knowledge. I felt I'd been dropped off on an alien planet and told, "Good luck!" just before the spaceship abandoned me.

Alice had taken me to the main office to get my schedule, my locker number, and a map of the school, showing where different classes where. Unfortunately, all of the directions were in French.

Yeah, sure, I'd had two years of French, and if someone spoke really slowly, I could usually figure out what he or she was saying, but the people here didn't talk slowly.

I don't know why I'd expected people to talk in English with a French accent. I couldn't figure out why I hadn't realized that they actually _spoke_ French in France!

I guess that was the reason French guys could spout romantic French words. They spoke French all the time!

I was beginning to wish I had studied more diligently in my French class back home instead of always doodling. But my hands had a life of their own, always doodling, always sketching. It was a given that if I had pencil and paper, I was going to draw something.

As I headed toward class—sculpting—I was a bit disconcerted to notice that people were paired up or grouped like friends. Alice had been wonderful showing me around, but she'd had to skedaddle to get to her math class, and it was obvious that they had cliques here—just like at home—and right now I didn't belong.

But I planned to belong and the sooner, the better. I could see guys checking me out, and I was definitely giving them a once-over.

I had developed a point system based on looks, attitude, cool clothes, smile, and a whole host of other attributes. Right now I was just making mental tallies, because I didn't want to be obvious by pulling out my little notepad and taking copious notes.

With mounting anticipation, I spotted the doorway that led to my first class. This was it. The moment I had anticipated for months. I could hardly wait to sit beside the cutest French guy in the class, introduce myself in my practices French phrases, and begin my journey towards romance!

Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the room and staggered to a stop.

_No way!_ My mind screamed. _No way!_ I was hallucinating. Having a flashback. Experiencing déjà vu. Or maybe my mind simply refused to accept that I was actually in Paris. It thought I was still in Forks, Washington!

That was the only logical explanation. I blinked several times, but the tabloid remained unchanged. Horrifying. Excruciatingly painful, even. The last thing in the world that I wanted.

Blinking wasn't working to erase the image before me. Closing my eyes, I gave my head a quick shake. I thought of an Etch a Sketch. I just wanted to obliterate the image, wipe it from existence.

When I opened my eyes, to my profound disappointment, nothing had changed.

The room had tables, two chairs to a table. Only one chair was vacant. I couldn't believe this! One chair. The chair I would have to sit in.

One solitary chair—right beside a guy with messy bronze hair. A guy I recognized! A guy from my high school back home.

What the_ hell_ was Edward Cullen doing here?

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><p><strong>Chapter Notes:<strong>

Please review!


	3. Chapter Three: Not Him!

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything Twilight, but I do own the new Breaking Dawn Part 1 Movie Companion book!**

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><p><strong>Three-Not Him!<strong>

**_Bella_**

"Trying to catch flies?" Edward asked.

I snapped my mouth shut. To my absolute mortification I realized I'd been staring at him, and he'd been rude enough not only to notice, but to comment on it. So typically Forks, Washington.

Because I had no choice, I walked toward him as if I was going to my execution. I _absolutely_ did not want to sit by someone who I knew from Forks High School! I dropped into the chair beside him. "What are you doing here?" I demanded.

He shrugged. "Waiting for the nude models to arrive."

I was afraid that the hinges on my jaws were going to lock up because of the way my mouth kept dropping open. I knew my eyes very nearly popped out of my head. _Nude models?_

I had expected school in Paris to be different from school in Forks. Paris was renowned for its artwork. Much of that work involved people in what my grandmother referred to as their birthday suits, but I hadn't expected to jump into a project this intense on the first day! I felt the heat suffuse my face, and I had to know. "Male or female?"

"Both," he replied in a way that made me think he was on the verge of yawning.

I couldn't believe how calmly Edward had responded! As if the most scandalous event in our young lives wasn't about to occur. I'd seen guys on the beach in skimpy swimsuits that didn't leave a lot to the imagination, but to see in the flesh what I hadn't even dared to dream about—and to see to see _it_ for the first time in front of a whole class…No wait, it was worse than that! I was sitting by someone who did know me, and for some reason that had my face burning even hotter. We'd both be sitting here side-by-side, gazing at…

Edward averted his face and pressed a fist to his mouth. His shoulders were jerking like a spastic chicken as he tried to contain his laughter. I narrowed my eyes, the anger roiling through me.

"You're lying!" I accused.

He choked back his laughter.

"You believed me. You are so gullible," he chortled.

With my fist I pounded his shoulder, surprised that it didn't have any give to it. The guy didn't play football on the Forks High School football team, so I'd expected Him to be flab without an ounce of brawn.

"You creep," I retorted. His joking around was so typical of the immature guys in Forks. Thank God I was going to be spared their presence in abundance this year. If only I'd had the good fortune to be spared at this moment. "How did someone as immature as you get accepted in the YA program anyway?"

He stopped laughing and poked his fingers into the mound of clay that sat on the table in front of him. "My parents pulled a few strings."

"I didn't even know you applied for the program," I murmured. I certainly didn't remember seeing him at any of the information meetings that had been held before and after the selections were made.

"It was a last-minute thing." He broke off a piece of clay and began to roll it between his fingers. He had _really_ long fingers, and his nails were evenly clipped, not broken. I'd learned early on not to wear anything with threads that might get caught and snagged by one of Jacob the Jerk Black's hangnails. His idea of a manicure had been to pull out his trusty pocketknife.

"You weren't on our flight—"

"Like I said, it was last minute," he interrupted, obviously annoyed. "That particular flight was already booked solid, so I had to take another one."

"Excuse me for pretending to care," I shot back.

He glanced at his watch and heaved a sigh.

"This class is going to be over before it even starts."

As if on cue, the teacher strolled into the room. His graying hair was pulled back into a ponytail that curled at his waist. Definitely not the style the male teachers at Forks High wore.

An then my worst nightmare began. He began to speak— in French. Rapidly.

"_Je ne comprends pas_," I murmured. I don't understand. Panic seized me. I considered raising my hand and repeating myself, asking for a bit leniency here, wanting him to issue his orders slowly.

But as I glanced hastily around the room, it became obvious that I was the only with a problem. Students were starting to work their fingers into the clay. I decided to take my cue from them.

The clay had a really smooth texture It was almost a sensual experience to knead the clay with my palms.

I darted a quick glance at Edward. He not only had long fingers, but he had large hands. They practically swallowed the clay as he shaped and molded it. His face was set in absolute concentration. It almost looked like he was trying to breathe life into the blob in front of him.

I imagined those hands caressing my check, massaging my neck and shoulders—_Whoa! Where did that come from?_

The last thing I wanted was for someone from Forks, Washington. And I absolutely did not want _Edward_ running his hands amok over my back!

No. I wanted someone else. A French guy!

As discreetly as I could, because I didn't want Edward to know what I was up to, I studied the guys in the class. Blondes, brunets, even a redhead. The y all looked pretty serious about their projects. That got them extra points. Since art was my life, I wanted a guy who could relate, someone I could talk to about artistic endeavors.

There were a couple of really hot guys. I gave a total of twelve points for looks, and both of those guys got full credit. They were somewhat cuter than Edward from Forks. With his hair the color of bronze and being a total mess, and his soulful, green eyes.

Tomorrow I was definitely going to try to get to class early, so I had the opportunity to sit by a Frenchie. This class has promise, lots of promise.

And none of those promises involved Edward Cullen.

_~oOo~  
><em>

**_Edward_**

Bella Swan had the most delicate, elegant hands I'd ever seen. Just like a girl, she prodded the clay like she thought it would bite. Me, I was enjoying the texture of the clay and grateful for the opportunity to pound my fists into something, to squeeze and tear apart a blob. That gray goo represented my life. My life had no shape, no texture, no color. I didn't usually have a dreary outlook. As a matter of fact, until six weeks ago, when my parents announced that they'd enrolled me in the Year Abroad Program, I'd say for the most part, I was a pretty happy guy. I'd dated a little, had good grades, and had plans for college that included a career path that lead me straight into being a doctor.

Then my now ex-girlfriend Tanya Denali, dropped a bomb on me. She said that she met someone else and that she never loved me. We were together for two years solid. And I thought she was happy with me, but I guess not.

Apparently my parents got tired of me moping around and decided that I needed get away from Forks for awhile. So, my dad pulled some strings and got me into the Year Abroad Program

.I slammed my fist into the clay, and the table wobbled. Bella screeched and jerked back in her chair, eyes wide.

"Gently, Monsieur Cullen," the teacher scolded. I felt my entire face burn with embarrassment. "I realize that Americans are crude, but in my class you must pretend you are French."

_Great,_ I thought. _A fucking bigot. _I had discovered that Americans weren't real popular in Paris.

"What's wrong?" Bella whispered. I shoved my clay to aside. "None of your business. So mind yourself." I snapped.

I took a deep breath, and felt kind of bad for snapping at her, when she was just trying to be nice.

"What's wrong is that this is a lame-ass class and a total waste of my time." I grabbed my backpack and stormed into the hallway. I turned the corner and pressed my back against the brick wall. I plowed my fingers through my hair and tugged a little. _That was real smart you dumbass. I think your grades here transfer back home. You gotta make the best of this, dude, no matter how much you dislike being here._

And making the best of it, in my opinion, meant getting heavily involved with a French babe.

Physical only. No emotions. No bonding. No declarations of love.

I stood in the hallway for a long time, trying to gain control over my anger and frustration. This year had barely begun, and already I hated it to the max.

The bell finally rang, and I began wandering to the hall, heading for my next class. Oils. Nothing to punch, plenty to smear. For some reason, I thought of the finger painting I did as a kid. A mess of colors that made no sense, that represented nothing. Just like my life.

I shook my head to clear it as I walked into the class and took my place behind an easel. I didn't want to think about my like.

While I was brooding, the class had filled up quickly. And who should stroll in just as the bell rang?

Bella Swan.

I couldn't believe it. Of all the schools in Paris, how in the world did she end up enrolled in mine? And worse than that, how had she managed to get herself into _two_ of my classes?

Her presence here was a nightmare. I did not need – nor did I want someone from my high school back home. And as fate would have it, she was late again and the only easel left was the one beside me. I'd hoped it would go to one of the French girls, but my thunderous scowl probably chased them all away. I was going to have to watch my expression.

"Can't you get anywhere on time?" I chided as she came to sit on the stool next to me.

"I'm having a hard time figuring out the French," she admitted, while setting her backpack on the floor.

"Well _duh!_ This is France. What did you expect?" I retorted.

"Give me a break, will you? I don't want to sit beside you anymore than you want to sit beside me," she snapped.

_Ouch!_ That hurt. Normally it wouldn't have.

Normally it would have washed right over me like the proverbial water off a duck's back. But nothing in my life had been normal since the bomb Tanya threw at me.

I knew Bella didn't mean to reject my presence, to reject me—I didn't even know why I cared. Yes, I did. I just didn't want to think about it.

No matter how many time my parents told me that it wasn't my fault that Tanya broke up with me for another guy, I couldn't help but think it was. I needed a major distraction. I needed to get involved with a French babe, someone I couldn't understand, someone I wouldn't grow to love. A flash of passion, hot kisses; that's all I wanted. Nothing permanent. Just someone I could lose myself with so I could forget everything that happened between me and Tanya. A French girl would be perfect for that ploy.

Sure, she would be temporary, just for a year, but that was fine with me because the one thing I'd learned lately was that love didn't last.

The teacher Mademoiselle Etiènne, was sweeping her paintbrush across the canvas, demonstrating the mastery of stroke. Her back was turned to the class, which I found incredibly convenient.

I allowed my gaze to wander around the room, weighing the merits of the female students. Eventually my gaze fell on Bella.

Shafts of sunlight streaked through the windows to highlight her mahogany hair. Her hair was a shade I couldn't describe, had never before envisioned. Did I even have that color available in my palette?

And her big brown eyes—brown like a rich dark chocolate with little flecks of green. The gentle buds of a new leaf reaching for the sun.

She was so absorbed in what the teacher was saying, so totally captivated. And captivating.

She shifted her gaze to me. I jerked my attention to the teacher. The last thing I was interested in was having a relationship with someone from back home.

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><p><strong>Chapter Notes:<strong>

So there you have it! Do you think that Edward will go with his little plan or will he go for Bella?

Also the Oil painting teacher's name is pronounced: Et-ee-anne


	4. Chapter Four: Hook, Line, And Sinker

**So, here's chapter four. Sorry it's so short! I was anxious to get another chapter up and my classes started this week, so I wasn't sure when I would have time to do it, so I did it on my day off! P.S. Thank you all for your reviews! Keep them coming! **

**And as always; I own nothing Twilight, it all belongs to Stephenie Meyer the genius behind creating these characters! But I do own a HUGE collection of Rob Pattinson photos!  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter Four-Hook, Line, And Sinker<strong>

**Edward**

I headed for a nearby café as soon as I gathered my books from my locker after the four-thirty bell rang—signaling the end of the day. Apparently everyone had the same plan. The line of patrons waiting to be served was a block long. People were crammed inside the shop, and all the outside tables—with their bright red-and- yellow umbrellas open to shield the patrons from the sun—were full.

My stomach growled, and I patted it. "Sorry, old buddy," I mumbled. I was famished and figured I'd faint from hunger before I ever got a table. I'd seek out other means to tame this rabid starving beast.

Just as I turned to go, I saw a familiar face. Bella!

She was sitting alone at a table beneath an umbrella. Relief swept through me. My stomach was going to be saved from a fate far worse than death after all!

I wended my way through the crowd and wove among the tables until I reached Bella. I dropped into the empty chair across from her.

"You finally got someplace early," I said as I snatched the menu from her fingers.

"You can't sit there!" she shrieked.

"Why not? I'm starving, and it's empty," I pointed out, my mouth already watering as I considered the options on the menu.

"I'm saving it for someone," she responded.

I scoffed. "Yeah right." After only one day in school, who could she possibly know?

Leaning forward, she grabbed the menu from my fingers. "I'm meeting Alice," she insisted.

_Alice? In France, isn't that a guy's name? _I thought to myself.

So what if it was? What did I care if she was already dating? But oddly, it bugged me.

"Is this guy on one of your classes?" I asked, trying to sound uninterested, wondering why I had to try when I _was_ totally interested.

Something that reminded me of the cunning look of a fox filled her eyes.

She tossed her head, the kind of move that a girl with long hair would make.

"No, I met Alice shortly after my flight touched down. We had an instant rapport. As a matter of fact, we were together last night until after midnight."

I really didn't want to hear about her date with some Frenchie. I figured I should probably move to a table with a Parisian girl, where I wouldn't have to worry about conversation. I glanced around. The place was packed like a can of sardines. It was either this table or the line.

I leaned forward and held out a hand imploringly. "Look Bella, I'm starving. I missed lunch."

She quirked a delicate brow.

I grimaced. "All right. I'm having a hard time reading the French too. I couldn't find the cafeteria."

A bubble of laughter erupted from her throat.

For some reason, it made me want to laugh, and I hadn't felt like laughing in over six weeks.

"Come on—just let me place an order," I pleaded, clasping my hands and shaking the in front of her. "I'll wolf it down and be out of here before this Alice guy ever shows up. Have pity. I'm a stranger in a strange land."

She laughed harder. She had a really pretty laugh. Light and airy. It kept me in waves.

"Please," I begged. "Please." I began to gasp and rasp like a man crawling across the desert. "I'm starving. Food. I need food! _Le menu, s'il te plaît." The menu please._

She thrust the menu at me. "You're pathetic. People are staring."

"_Merci,_ Mademoiselle." Triumphant, I leaned back and studied the menu. Whe the waitress came over, I ordered a couple of sandwiches. I wasn't sure what was in them and didn't want to drag out my English-French dictionary in front of Bella. I knew the bread was a croissant. I just hoped whatever the fixings came in the middle weren't going to make me regret to act like I wasn't an ignorant tourist.

I watched Bella sip something that looked like lemonade but probably wasn't. I didn't remember her being so cute back in Forks. I cleared my throat. "So how does Jake feel about you being all the way over here?"

Her brown eyes popped open wide. "Why would I care?"

I felt the heat rush to my face. "I thought the two of you were an item?"

"A discarded item," she responded.

"Hey, I'm sorry."

She held up a hand. "Don't be. Whe you start at the bottom of the food chain, the only place to go is up."

I fought back a smile. I never had been able to figure out what she saw in that guy. I mean, he wasn't an absolute loser, but the guy seemed more obsessed with fixing cars than dating.

"I didn't know you had an interest in art," I remarked. She'd been in my sketching class as well that afternoon. That gave us three classes together.

Fortunately in the sketching class, though, someone had taken the chair beside me before Bella arrived, so I was spared her the nearness as Madame Trudi explained the process and gave us our first assignment.

"I always took art as my elective at Forks High." She furrowed her brow. "I don't remember having you in my art classes, though."

"Are you kidding?" I inquired. "And have the guys think I was a pansy?" I leaned forward conspiratorially. "So let's just keep my little foray into the art world between us when we get back home, okay?"

"No one would think you were a pansy," she insisted.

Yeah, right. Most of the guys at Forks think a smiley face is a work of art."

She giggled. Man, I liked that sound.

"That's true," she responded.

"I mean, the guys are either into football or baseball, and the really _macho_ guys do both," I explained.

"I can't see you playing football," she commented. "But I could see you on the baseball team."

I sighed heavily.. "My mom had a friend who played college football. He got tackled, snapped his neck, and was paralyzed. My mom forbid me to play football."

Bella furrowed her brow. "Her friend's accident must have been hard for your mom. I can certainly understand where she's coming from. Still, there's basketball, baseball, and track."

I shook my head. "No time for school sports."

"You make time for what's important," she pointed out.

"Exactly." I leaned back as the waitress set my sandwiches in front of me. "And school sports are not important to me."

Gingerly, I lifted the top of one of the sandwiches and peered at its insides.

"Don't you know what you ordered, do you?" she teased.

"Yeah, I know what I ordered. Croissant sandwiches. I just don't know what's between the layers of bread," I confessed.

She laughed again, that remarkable laugh.

I bit into the sandwich, grateful to discover it was turkey.

"Uh, listen," she began hesitantly.

I finished chewing and swallowed. She looked really uncomfortable, and for one horrifying moment I was afraid that she knew about my nasty break up with Tanya. I'd been too ashamed to tell anyone, but in a small town like Forks, gossip can spread like a bushfire.

With the tip of her small finger, she wiped the dew off her glass. "We had to put our clay projects on a table at the back of the room. I put yours away. It'll be easy for you to find tomorrow. It's the one that's not even beginning to look like anything yet."

Guilt pricked my conscience. "Ah, man, thanks. I really appreciate you doing that for me. I'm sorry I went postal-"

She held up a hand. "I understand completely."

_Huh? How could she? Unless she knows about the break-up._

"I didn't expect it to be so hard to adjust to a new school, a new city, and a new life."

"Yeah." _A new life._ I thought. Once I adjusted here, I'd have to adjust back home. "I think all the classes are pretty good," I added, wanting to shift the subject away from my adjustments.

"I was surprised that we already have an assignment in sketching class," she admitted. "What are you going to sketch?"

"The Eiffel Tower," I said without hesitation.

She rolled her eyes. "That is so expected. So boring."

Before I had a chance to tell her my complete plans for the sketch, a girl with short spiky black hair and blue eyes dragged over a chair from another table and joined us.

"Hi _Alice,_" Bella said. "Meet Edward Cullen from Forks High."

Alice was a girl? I'd been deceived. Bella had knowingly let me believe that Alice was a guy!

Bella looked incredibly cute with her smug expression. I had a feeling she was paying me back for my nude-model prank in our first class. She'd been cute then too, and obviously horrified at the thought of looking at a nude model.

I'd felt almost guilty about teasing her.

I could tell now that she had enjoyed my initial baffled expression, enjoyed more the fact that I realized I'd been had.

She tilted up her nose, and her eyes were challenging me to admit I'd fallen for her ploy, hook, line, and sinker.

I hadn't known Bella well back in Forks, and now I was wondering why I'd paid so little attention to her there. She was intriguing.

_Whoa!_ I didn't want to travel that route.

My goal this year was a French babe. _Not_ someone from Forks High.

* * *

><p><strong>End of Chapter Notes:<br>**

Dun dun dun!

I really couldn't resist the idea of making Edward think Alice was a guy! Because I do remember somewhere reading that the name Alice is also a guy's name in France (I could be wrong!) But it sure put Edward in his place! What do you think will happen next? Will Edward get his Frenchie girl and will Bella get her romantic French guy? Stay tuned! I'm gonna try to work something juicy in the next chapter! HAHAHA! Any-who, I should have chapter five up by this weekend, as long as I don't have a boatload of homework that is!

Oh, and keep those reviews coming! They make me happy to know what people think about my story!


	5. Chapter Five:The Musée du Louvre

**A/N: Sorry for the wait! Here's chapter 5! Hope you enjoy it!**

**And as always: The Amazing Stephenie Meyer owns everything Twilight related, I just own the story idea! Oh and Growing anticipation for Breaking Dawn to come out on DVD! Can't wait for Feb. 11th!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

**Bella**

I absolutely could not believe the way Alice flirted with Edward- like he was something special!

Obviously it was a case of not realizing what you have. Alice was surrounded by romantic French guys all the time, so I figured she found Edward intriguing simply because of the fact that he was so utterly boring.

And a liar! He'd apparently forgotten his promise to wolf down his food and hightail it out of there. I really wanted to talk about guys with Alice, but not in front of Edward!

I tapped my fingers impatiently on the table, but the guy seemed to not get a hint! Dense. So completely dense!

I couldn't believe that he'd actually made me laugh with confession, reluctantly given, that he was having a hard time understanding the French and then the way he'd looked at the sandwich—fear clearly etched in his face.

~oOo~

The Musée du Louvre.

I was thrilled when Alice suggested that we visit the museum. I figured guys interested in art would frequent the place. Cute French guys, that is! It was the _perfect_ place to guy watch.

Sure, I had enjoyed talking at home, but I didn't plan to spend the most monumental year of my hanging out with someone from Forks. I'd done seventeen years of it. Enough, already! Now I needed a break. And more, a romantic Paris guy.

And where better to look than an art museum?

One of the most romantic things about Paris in my opinion was the abundance of gardens. They were beautiful and _everywhere!_ Le Jardin des Tuileries surrounds the Louvre. French landscaping is an art form, I realized these magnificent gardens were no exception as we walked through them on our way to the Louvre.

The museum itself was fascinating beyond my wildest dreams. It dated back to medieval times, and French kings had constantly renovated it and built onto it until it was _huge_: a myriad of buildings, hundred-forty exhibition rooms, and eight miles of galleries.

As we wondered from room to room, I felt like I was in heaven—artist heaven. The art collection was incredible, the most important in the world. I found myself staring at original masterpieces like Leonardo da Vinci's _Mona Lisa_ and forgetting my mission: to scout out the guys.

I imagined strolling through the Louvre with a guy who could actually appreciate all this. Jacob's idea of artwork was stick figures.

Alice and I were engrossed in a sculpture titled _The Dying Slave._ A work by Michelangelo.

"I wouldn't mind meeting the guy who posed for this," I whispered to Alice.

"I think he is long dead." Alice whispered back.

"I'll settle for one of his descendants," I told her.

She smiled. "You think he would be romantic?"

"Well, let's see." I reached into my backpack and pulled out my notebook. "I have a ranking system. Zero is absolute loser in that area. Three is the best. So what should we give this guy?"

She laughed lightly. "Since he seems to have plenty, I guess a three."

"I agree. Eyes, I'll have to give him a two, because I don't know what color they are." The marble statue was all white. "I think either blue or green is the most romantic."

"Eye color is romantic?" she asked, clearly amused.

"Sure. For physique, this guy definitely gets a three. Then I have personality broken down. Humor?" I allowed my gaze to wonder over the statue.

"Well," Alice murmured. "He's not smiling."

What in the world would a dying slave have to smile about? Still I thought he appeared stoic.

"Okay. I'll give him a one. Intelligence?"

'Hard to say."

"Romantic?"

"Very!" we both said at the same time, and giggled. All in all, I knew I wouldn't be dating the statue. But this exercise was demonstrating that using a point system wasn't going to be the perfect solution. A lot of things you didn't discover until it was too late—just as I had with Jacob.

"Come on, " I urged. "Let's find some real guys to evaluate."

We began walking towards the next room.

"I'm not sure love should be based on points," Alice explained.

"That's because you live in a world of romantic guys," I declared as we neared the doorway. "I only have this year to enjoy romance, so I have to find the best-possible guy. The one who can fulfill all my fantasies."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a really cute guy.

Tall. Blond. I made notations in my notebook, thinking he might be worth introducing myself to. I glanced over my shoulder at him. Definitely hot.

_Wham!_

Someone rammed into me—or I rammed into him. My notebook and pencil went flying out of my hands, landing on the floor with a thud and a ping. Strong hands wrapped around my arms and steadied me. I jerked back my head.

To my horror, I was staring at Edward Cullen.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Why don't you watch where you're going?" I snapped, even though I was the one who hadn't been watching.

"Sorry. I'm having a hard time dragging my gaze from the statues." He bent down and picked up my notebook and pencil. He furrowed his brow. :Why are you working on a math problem when you're surrounded by all this exquisite artwork?"

I snatched my notebook from his fingers. "It's none of your business." His brow creased more deeply, and I didn't want him figuring out what my _math problem_ really was. I decided to change the subject quickly. "Are you here to get ideas for your art project—something other than the predictable Eiffel Tower?"

"No, I'm definitely doing the tower," he insisted.

This guy was incredibly unimaginative. "That is so boring!"

"It's a Paris landmark."

"Exactly," I pointed out. "Don't you think it's been done a thousand of times?"

"Not the way I'm going to do it," he insisted.

"What? Are you going to imitate Picasso?" I chided.

"No, it'll be an original Cullen, which means it'll have a unique perspective."

"Oh yeah, right," I scoffed.

"Why don't you come with me tomorrow after school to the place where I plan to sketch the tower?" he challenged, a formidable glint in his eyes.

I loved challenges, and for some reason, I really wanted to prove to this guy that he was as uninspiring as our hometown. I gave him a cocky smile. 'Okay."

"Great, it's a date then," he replied, although he didn't sound like he really thought it was great. He was probably already having second thoughts because he realized how mundane his sketch would be—and I'd witness that revelation.

"I'll catch up with you tomorrow," he said just before he turned on his heel and walked away.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, it hit me exactly what I'd agreed to do.

My first date in Paris was with an American, a boring American from Forks at that!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Notes:<strong>

Ohhh! What do you think is gonna happen? **grins** I know what will happen! But I'm not gonna give it away! That'll just ruin my fun in keeping you in suspense!

Keep the reviews coming! Peace out!


	6. Chapter Six:Pain In The Ass!

Chapter Six-Pain In the Ass!

_Bella_

I tossed the clothes from my suitcase into the dresser drawers. If I didn't keep my hands busy, I would pull out my hair. I couldn't believe that I'd actually agreed to go somewhere with Edward Cullen.

What had I been thinking? Obviously I _hadn't_ been thinking! And now I'm stuck going on a "date" with Edward Cullen!

He was so smug about his desire to draw the Eiffel Tower. I guess I wanted to be present when he realized that I was right and he was so totally wrong.

I know, that was a lousy reason. Why did I care what he drew? I didn't care anything about him! If he flew home tomorrow, my life would be complete.

I slammed a drawer shut just as someone knocked on my door. Alice walked in and plopped on my bed.

"So, tell me _everything _about Edward," she demanded.

I zipped up my suitcase and moved it to the floor so I could sit on the edge of the mattress.

"What do you care? You have a boyfriend."

"Jasper is wonderful, _oui, _but I amfascinated by this Edward," she commented. "He is the first American guy I have ever talked to."

My eyes almost popped out of my head.

"Fascinated? He is _so_ uninteresting!"

She shrugged. "I thought he was hot. What scores would you give him with your rating system?"

"ALL zeros!" But even as I said that, I knew I was lying.

"Come on. Let's see how he rates," she prodded.

"It doesn't matter how he rates," I pointed out.

"He isn't French."

"Afraid you'll discover he has a good score?" she challenged.

Sneering –half jokingly—I reached for my notepad and pencil. I stretched out on my stomach.

Alice rolled over so our shoulders touched. For a brief moment I thought of Angela and Rosalie—and all the times we'd lain on the bed together like this, looking through teen magazines or our high-school yearbooks.

"Eyes?" Alice asked.

"Well as a rule, I only give a three for blue eyes…"

Edward had eyes the color of the finest emeralds you can buy, and I was a sucker for the color green. So I generously gave him a three.

"Smile?" Alice prodded.

"It's imperfect," I stated, my pencil hovering over the paper. His smile was lopsided; crooked really. The right side always went up higher than the left. It was kind of dazzling in a way, made him look a little shy. I put a three in the smile column.

He had smothered his laughter in class, so I couldn't rate it fairly. Hair. A bright Bronze color. No other guy in Forks had his hair color, not even in the school here in Paris—as far as I could see that is_. Two_. I erased the two. He wore it sort of longish and messy, but it was an orderly disarray of a mess. _Three_. I thought of what it would feel like to run my fingers through it. I didn't like how much that thought appealed to me. I erased the three and put back the two.

"What are you doing?" Alice asked.

"Trying to be subjective." But the task seemed almost impossible.

I had to give him a one for temperament after his angry display in sculpting class that day. A three for manners since he's included Alice in our conversation and he'd picked up my notebook and pencil when I dropped them. He liked art. _Three_. Intelligent. _Three. _It stood to reason that anyone who appreciated art was intelligent. Romantic. A big, fat _zero_.

I smiled triumphantly. Where it counted the most, he was an absolute loser.

"He'll never do," I commented.

"Are you looking for someone with perfect scores?" Alice asked.

"You bet," I confirmed. "And French."

"Want to double-date?" Alice suddenly asked.

I laughed lightly. "I haven't found Mr. Romantic yet, but when I do—"

"A practice date," she interrupted. "So you can get used to the French dating scene."

"I'm not sure who I'd ask," I confirmed.

"I could have my boyfriend ask one of his friends to take you out," she offered.

Quickly I sat up. "Do you think he'd do that?"

She grinned. _"Oui._ Jasper is very romantic. He'll find someone good for you."

"This will be great!" I told her. "I really don't want to blow it when I discover the real thing, and Jacob wasn't exactly good practice material for how a date should be handled."

As we began discussing possibilities, I turned over my notepad. It bothered me to look at Edward's scores, confused me to even think about him.

The next morning I arrived at sculpting class early. I quickly scouted the room and took a seat beside an absolute dreamy guy. Brown hair and blue-eyed, he was the complete opposite of Edward. So his score shot up before I'd even finished assessing him.

He didn't have Edward's broad shoulders or Edward's height, but that was okay. He was French.

He took my hand and kissed my fingers. "_Ma chère_, _Bienvenue à Paris_."

My dear, welcome to Paris.

I was melting. How romantic. "_M-Merci,"_ I stammered.

_Great going, Bella. Impress the guy with your lack of sophistication._ There were times when I _really_ resented coming from a small town.

"I'm Bella Swan," I told him.

He smiled, a three-point smile. "We all know who you are. I am Pierre Robards."

I repeated his name, It was fantastic, not dull sounding like Edward.

I glanced over my shoulder, and who should I see but the bane of my existence. Edward Cullen was talking with a beautiful French girl, making the girl laugh like a hyena. _Good, maybe he'd cancel on this afternoon._ I thought. I was accustomed to guys bailing out at the last minute. Jake had done that repeatedly. If one of the guys called with a better offer than a night out with his girl—like driving trucks through mud—he was there.

I knew instinctively that French guys would be too romantic to cancel a date—for any reason.

Although I would be here for only a year, I knew whoever I settled my heart on would follow me back to Washington, would swim in the Pacific ocean at First Beach in order to be with me.

So maybe I had an overactive imagination where love was concerned. I mean, I understood that he wouldn't actually follow mw across an ocean. But he would be romantic, and he would give me a year that I could hold close for the rest of my life.

"Messieurs! Mesdemoiselles!" The teacher tapped his knuckles on the desk. Then he us in perfect French that we had to sit in the chair we had sat in yesterday. His seating chart was made.

My stomach dropped to the floor. I wanted to stay where I was! I was on the verge of offering Monsieur Henri an eraser or some White-Out when he snapped, "_Vite! Vite!"_

Hurry! Hurry!

I trudged to the table where Edward sat and dropped in the chair beside him.

With a wide grin, he leaned over. He jabbed his thumb over his thumb, "Pierre over there? Before class, I saw him in the hall with a lip lock with some girl—" He Shook His Head. "Man, they probably had to bring in the Jaws of Life to separate them so they could get to class."

Disappointment hit me hard. :He has a girlfriend?"

"Either that or they say howdy different over here."

"They _do_ say 'howdy' differently," I shot back, wanting to wipe that smirk off his face. "They say _bonjour."_

I was fuming. Not so much because of Pierre had a girlfriend, but because Edward had witnessed my mooning over a guy who was unavailable. I was allowed to make mistakes! I just didn't want Edward Cullen to witness them! For all I knew, the girl he'd been talking with might have been lip locked before class as well.

With anger still too close to the surface, I started to mold the clay, working to finish up the project I'd started yesterday—a vase. Unfortunately, it looked more like a lopsided bowl.

"Hey, by the way, " Edward whispered conspiratorially.

Startled that he had leaned close enough for me to feel his warm breath skim my neck and to have the same breath send a shiver along my spine, I crumbled one side of my project. _Great! Just great!_ Now I had to rebuild. I hadn't planned to have someone from my school back home witness any mistakes.

"You're gonna need a bike for our excursion this afternoon," he added.

I glared at him. "Where am I supposed to get a bike?"

"Check with your host sister," he suggested calmly.

"Don't you think you should have told me sooner?" I asked.

"I'm telling you now," he pointed out. "You've got all day to find a bike."

Just like a guy not to realize all that was involved in going out. They never got ready for things. They just went as they were.

Why the heck couldn't Edward Cullen have gone to London like my friend Rosalie or Rome like my friend Angela? Why Paris, where he could torment me without even trying?

~/YB\\~

After school I went straight to my host home. I'd seen Alice at lunch, and she'd told me that I could use her bicycle. How typical of a guy to remember at the last moment that a girl needed to prepare for a date!

Whoa! I stopped that thought. This was _not_ a date! No way. We were just working on our project for sketching class. Hopefully I could find something other than the Eiffel Tower to sketch. I refused to be boring Bella from Forks.

But before I went on the field trip to Ho-hum or wherever Edward planned to go, I needed to get psyched up. And my best friends were the greatest at helping me accomplish that goal.

We'd finally figured out how to get into a private chat room. It was almost like talking on the phone, only our fingers did all the work. I sat at my desk, turned on my computer, and logged on the Internet, and accessed our private room. They were there waiting.

_**Bella:**__ Hey guys!  
><em>_**Rosalie:**__ Bella! Good to see you! :)  
><em>_**Angie:**__ Bella, how is Paris?  
><em>_**Bella:**__ Paris is beautiful! How is Rome?  
><em>_**Angie:**__ Interesting. I'm engaged in a little experiment with a guy named Ben Antonio.  
><em>_**Rosalie:**__ What kind of experiment?  
><em>_**Angie:**__ Teaching him a lesson. Unfortunately, the better I know him, the more I'm regretting this brilliant idea I had. He hates Americans. And he doesn't know I'm American.  
><em>_**Bella:**__ What?  
><em>_**Rosalie:**__ What?  
><em>_**Angie:**__ It's a long story. How's your host brother, Rosalie?  
><em>_**Rosalie:**__ He has a girlfriend.  
><em>_**Bella:**__ Bummer :(  
><em>_**Rosalie:**__ Her name is Rosalie, and she's beautiful. :P_

I laughed. Rosalie just stuck her tongue out at me, and admitted that she has a boyfriend! I'd met her host brother-Emmett—while I was in London. Emmett was really cute, and he had the sexiest British accent!

_Angie: Bella, got any dates yet?_

I groaned. I'd failed to mention my lapse of judgment when I e-mailed them yesterday. Angie or course, would ask. I debated what to tell them.

_**Bella:**__ Not really. I'm going out on an outing with Edward Cullen this afternoon.  
><em>_**Angie:**__ Edward Cullen, as in Edward Cullen from Forks?  
><em>_**Rosalie:**__ Thought he was boring.  
><em>_**Bella:**__ He is! The purpose for this outing is to show him exactly how dull he is.  
><em>_**Angie:**__Why bother?_

Good question. Trust Angie to get to the heart of the matter.

_**Angie:**__ Hello, Bella! Why aren't you answering? You don't like him, do you?  
><em>_**Bella: **__No way!_

And I didn't like him. At least, not in the boy-girl kind of way that Angie meant. My point system proved that Edward wasn't the one for me. I glanced at my watch. Yikes! Edward was going to be here at any minute…


	7. Chapter Seven:Excursion

Chapter Seven: Excursion

_Bella_

I sat on the front steps that led into Alice's house. The houses on this street were all brick, very narrow in the front, and hemmed in by the house on the other side. So much different from my home in Forks, which had a relatively large yard and space between the other houses.

Alice's bike was leaning against the wall beside me. I'd thrown on a navy blue sweat suit because the weather was already cool in Paris. Pleasantly cool, but I figured it would be close to dark by the time we got back, and it would be much cooler then. I wore a baseball cap too.

I heard the whir of wheels, so I turned, and froze.

Edward brought his bicycle to a grinding halt only inches from me. He wore an honest-to-God cyclist's outfit. The shorts and jersey were hugging his body like a second skin.! It looked like he'd probably had to melt down his body and pour it into the clothes to get them on! And _damn_! Did he have muscles! The muscles on his calves were well-defined—just like the muscles carved onto the marble statues I'd seen yesterday .

And his thighs looked rock hard— like granite.

I swallowed.

"Don't you have a helmet?" he asked.

I snapped my gaze to his. God. Even his shoulders looked firm. I remembered being surprised when I'd punched him yesterday. I was stunned. Or was I dazzled?

"You cycle for real, don't you?"

He removed his helmet. His bronze hair was plastered to his head. "Yeah. As a matter of fact, we're going to cycle over one of the roads that Lance Armstrong rode when he won the Tour de France in nineteen-ninety-nine."

I had watched the Tour de France that year, amazed that a person who had recently conquered cancer managed to win the most prestigious cycling race in the world. Lance Armstrong was an amazing individual. I would have gladly told Edward that I admired Armstrong if I weren't so upset with him.

"You told me that you didn't have time for sports," O reminded him indignantly.

"I said I didn't have time for _school_ sports. Forks doesn't have a cycling team," he remarked.

He extended his helmet. "You can wear my helmet."

That action seemed a little too personal, and I definitely did not want to get personal with Edward. I backed up a step. "That's okay. I'll be fine."

"Bella, it's really dangerous to cycle without a helmet," he said seriously, like a parent lecturing a child.

"It's okay for you to be in danger, but not me?" I shot back.

"This excursion was my idea. I'd feel bad if anything happened to you," he said quietly, as if he was embarrassed to admit it.

"I kinda like the idea of you feeling guilty," I said.

"And I prefer the idea of you not getting hurt. Let's switch headgear," he suggested.

If I were honest, I wasn't all that confident in my ability to keep the bike upright. I just hoped that before we were done, I wouldn't regret not having shin guards and elbow pads. I handed him my cap, took his helmet, and settled it into place.

He grinned, that lopsided, cute grin, "That's some stunning outfit."

"This isn't a date," I pointed out. But I wished that I had worn something a little nicer. I hadn't bothered to freshen up any of my makeup. What was I thinking? What did I care? This guy was Edward Cullen. American. Not French.

I watched while he shoved my cap into one of the pockets on the back of his jersey. Indignation ran through me. "Aren't you going to wear my hat?"

He shook his head slightly. "Pink really isn't my color."

"But it makes a fashion statement," I exclaimed.

He blushed. "A fashion statement I can do without, thanks all the same. Come on. We've stalled long enough. Follow me," he ordered, and began pedaling.

I grabbed Alice's bike, hopped on, and started after him.

We cycled out fo the city, alongside the lush green country side. I was embarrassed because Edward had to keep slowing down so I could catch up to him. He'd even walked up a couple of hills with me, pushing his bike and mine. Of course, he'd only done that after he'd reached the top of the hill, glanced back, and realized I was fighting an uphill battle that I probably wasn't going to win. The guy was so absolutely in shape that I couldn't help but be impressed.

I remembered all the riders whizzing by during the broadcast of the Tour de France, and it was obvious to me that Edward was pretty darn close to being in their league.

By the time we arrived at the hilltop where he finally stopped, I was breathing hard, and my muscles were trembling.

He looked like he'd just taken a Sunday stroll.

"You took that curve back there awfully fast," I chastised as I took off the helmet.

He touched a little monitor on the handlebars of his bike. "Forty-two miles an hour."

"You are serious about this," I murmured.

"Actually, I'd like to ride in the Tour de France someday," he said as he took our bikes and leaned them against a tree.

I was still catching my breath. He removed his backpack and took out a blanket, then spread the blanket over the ground. I slipped my backpack off my shoulders. I had my sketch pad and my pencils, but that was about it. I couldn't imagine trying to cycle while carrying anything else.

He glanced over his shoulders. "Sit down."

I dropped onto the blanket, grateful for the opportunity to rest my legs. Edward handed me a bottle of juice. Nothing had ever tasted sweeter as I squirted the liquid in my mouth. And it hit me that he'd put a lot of thought into this excursion—even though this wasn't a date.

"I've got some goat cheese here, some apples a baguette, and a few other things. Just help yourself," he offered as he spread out the snacks.

"You thought of everything," I murmured, while I broke off a piece of the crusty bread and some cheese. To my great surprise, I was famished.

He gave me that lopsided grin. "I get hungry when I cycle."

I smiled back. "I can see why. You don't exactly do a leisurely ride."

His face burned red as if my observation embarrassed him.

"What do you think of the view?" he asked.

I looked past him, and the breath backed up in my lungs. It was the first moment I'd actually looked around to see where we were. "Oh my God!"

From where we sat, I could see the Eiffel Tower, framed by trees, and deep blue sky. "It's beautiful," I whispered in awe.

"Worth sketching?" he asked.

"Definitely," I responded without thinking. Then I shifted my gaze to him.

He looked so pleased with himself. He settled back against the tree and picked up his sketch pad. "Guess you could sketch a tree," he teased.

I took my sketch pad out of my backpack. "I could. But I won't."

"You're rare, Bella," he said quietly.

I snapped my gaze to his. My heart pounding in my chest. I didn't like the way he was studying me. Too intently, intensely. "Rare?" I squeaked.

"A girl who admits when she's wrong." He gave me a cocky grin that broke the mood.

Thank God.

"I'm seldom wrong that I don't have a problem admitting when I am," I responded haughtily.

He laughed then, a deep booming laugh. It echoed between the trees, echoed around my heart. His laughter was a definite three. Warm and full of life. I wished I hadn't realized that.

I turned my attention back to the Eiffel Tower. "We'd better get busy here. It'll be dark soon."

I started sketching like crazy. The sooner I finished, the sooner we'd leave. And the sooner I'd be out of the presence of Edward Cullen.

I got confused whenever I was near him. He was Forks. That fact, alone, guaranteed that he would not be romantic.

And yet here I was on a hilltop outside of Paris, gazing at the Eiffel Tower, an unexpected picnic spread before me…and a helmet resting beside my thigh because he didn't want me to get hurt. Even though it meant exposing himself to the dangers of a head injury.

I knew guys from Forks. Had dated one. Romance was a foreign to them. Edward was a definite contradiction. I couldn't figure him out, and I kept telling myself that I didn't want to.

I drew lines and shaded and worked hard to concentrate on the drawing. Anything to stop me from noticing the guy sitting against the tree, sketching as well. I didn't want to notice the way his hand swept over the paper or the deep furrow in his brow.

Or the way his muscles beneath his jersey quivered. There should be a law against clothes that fit that snugly. They were too distracting.

An eternity seemed to pass before my sketch was complete. Relief coursed through me. This non-date that was closer to a date than anything I'd experienced with Jake was about to come to an end. I held up my creation for Edward to see. "What do you think?"

He grinned and took my pad. I watched him run a critical eye over the lines and shadows I'd drawn.

"Hey, this is really good," he said, his voice reflecting admiration.

My heart did a little somersault. It was the artist in me that longed for his approval, I told myself. Not the girl.

"Let me see your," I prodded.

His face turned red, and he shook his head. He handed my pad back to me and closed his own. "Mines not that great."

"Let me see," I insisted.

He shoved it into his backpack. "It's really amateurish."

"You have to expect that," I explained. "You haven't taken any art classes before."

He started to put away the remains of our picnic. I was really pleased with my sketch, but I felt bad that it had made him feel like his wasn't any good. "It takes alot of practice to draw well,: I said kindly, encouragingly.

"I know." He moved closer as he gathered the last of the items and put them in his backpack.

I raised up on my knees, preparing to get off the blanket. My gaze fell on the horizon, and I stilled.

The majestic sunset cast a glow over Paris. I'd never seen anything so spectacular. Or so romantic. Picture-postcard perfection. I forgot to breathe.

I smiled warmly and turned to Edward. "Thank you for sharing this place with me," I said softly.

He was so close, his eyes a deep emerald, like the most expensive emeralds imaginable. I felt like I was drowning in those eyes.

"Do you think a true artist could paint this view without imagining a kissing couple?" he asked quietly.

I slowly shook my head, captivated by his nearness. I couldn't remember Jake ever getting close to me and just hovering, waiting, creating an anticipation I couldn't explain.

Edward inched closer. "The kiss doesn't have to mean anything, but it should be there. Don't you think?"

I wasn't thinking at all. I was just immersed in his presence, the artistry of the moment. I nodded slightly.

He lowered his mouth to mine. His lips were soft and tender, not at all what I'd expected. Gentle, even. Jake had kissed like we were having a race, fast and hard, 'let's get to the finish line as quickly as we can so we can start over.'

Edward kissed like there was no finish line, no rush.

_If he gives this kind of kiss when it doesn't mean anything, _I thought, _a real kiss from him… would be painted in colors so warm, deep and vibrant that it would never be forgotten. _


	8. Chapter Eight:Lonely

**Chapter Eight:Lonely**

**_Edward_**

I flopped back on my bed in my small bedroom at Jacque's house. I stuffed my pillow beneath my head and glared at the ceiling. Kissing Bella had been a _major_ mistake.

I couldn't figure out what had come over me. The artist in me had appreciated the view, the way the setting sun had cast a golden halo around her…

But the male in me had been drawn to Bella as if there was no there girl on earth.

_Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!_

I'd been like a mosquito just beyond a bug zapper, and then suddenly it's lured in and… _zap!_

The mosquito is burned to a crisp. I was a little more fortunate. But not by much.

Bella had definitely zapped me.

I jerked her pink hat off my head. I'd forgotten to give it back to her, and once I was safely hidden away in my room, I'd put it on. I couldn't explain why. It just made me feel closer to her.

That closeness I definitely did _not_ need.

Sitting up, I tossed the hat so it landed on the bedpost and it did a little twirl. I grabbed my backpack from where I dropped it earlier at the end of the bed. I jerked open the zipper and pulled out my sketch pad. I shuffled through the pages until I found the sketch I'd drawn on the hilltop.

The line were perfect, and not because I'd drawn them perfectly. They were perfect before I ever put them on paper.

The soft curve of Bella's mouth. The sweep of her thick long, eyelashes.

The few freckles that dotted her nose.

The way her long mahogany hair hung in soft waves.

Man, I'd never realized how a few freckles really were attractive. But on Bella they were like…highlights.

I knew that with art, it was often the smallest aspect of the work that made the difference. Details were important. Small details the most important.

So why was I becoming obsessed with a few dots that framed Bella's nose?

Because Bella had a cute nose.

And an adorable laugh. And eyes that sparkled constantly.

And a wonderful sense of humor. I couldn't remember when I'd laughed last laughed. But when she had told me that she was so rarely wrong… Her comment wasn't that funny…but the _way_ she'd said it as if she honestly believed it but understood that it wasn't true at the same time. I couldn't stop myself from bursting out laughing.

I had taken her to that hilltop to prove myself. From a particular vantage point, I could draw a captivating sketch of the Eiffel Tower. Instead I'd found myself enthralled in her.

To the extent that I had wanted to kiss her—desperately. I hadn't expected her lips to be so pliant/ So warm. So welcoming. I'd been lost in her. Completely forgetting about Tanya and the break-up for the first time in weeks.

For the briefest of moments, I wasn't sad anymore. Or unhappy.

My life had been filled with all colors on an artist's palette.

Whoa! These thoughts were definitely going beyond heavy. Bella was a girl from back home. The _last_ girl I wanted to kiss.

I did not want a relationship that involved feelings or a girl who managed to arouse fanciful thoughts. Bella was definitely not what I needed.

Relationships did not last, and I wasn't going to let a fun, smiling, artistic girl make me believe that they did.

~/YB\\~

Walking rapidly down the street, the cool evening air surrounded me, I knew the signs of Panic. I'd felt them when Tanya told me she met someone else and was breaking up with me. My life as I'd known it until that moment sort of exploded like a supernova.

Leaving behind a black hole.

I felt I was free-falling more deeply into that hole. All because I had kissed Bella—and more because she had kissed me back. She had responded so sweetly. I needed to make sure that she understood that kiss on the hilltop—given to her during a moment of weakness or insanity, or maybe both—meant absolutely nothing. _Rein._

As a sane person, I felt the need to talk to her that night, that moment, that _very _second.

She didn't live that faraway, and it was close to eight o'clock when I knocked at her house. A woman, who I assumed was her host mother opened the door. When I explained who I was, she invited me in, but I didn't want any witnesses to a possibly embarrassing situation.

Outside, I paced in front of the house while she went to get Bella. My heart was pounding like the bass drum in a band during a football-game halftime performance.

"Hey, what's up?" Bella asked as she stepped outside, closing the door behind her.

I halted in mid-stride. Man she was gorgeous. It was dark outside, but I could see those few freckles in my mind. _Forget the freckles, _ I ordered myself. _Forget the feel of her mouth against yours._

"I just wanted to make sure that you understood that kiss didn't mean anything," I announced/

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the closed door. I felt her eyes boring into me. Scrutinizing me.

"You explained that in the hill," she reminded me.

"That doesn't mean you understood what I was saying,: I told her.

"I understood. The kiss meant nothing," she said softly.

I took a step closer. "I'm not interested in a relationship—not with you, not with anyone."

"That's good, because I'm not interested in having a relationship with _you_," she blurted out.

I should have felt relieved, but for some strange reason, I was disappointed.

"I plan to date a hundred girls while I'm in Paris," I said, striving to convince myself as much as her.

She uncrossed her arms. "I understand completely," she assured me. "My plan is to become involved with one guy—but a French guy. Not a mundane American." She took a step closer. "I want to be romanced by someone who invented the word. And the French did that."

"Good!" I snapped. "I'm glad to hear that."

"The kiss meant absolutely _nothing_ to me," she reiterated.

_Nothing?_ That's what I wanted, right? I wanted it to mean nothing.

"Excellent. So we can go on with our lives as if nothing happened on that hilltop," I told her.

"Absolutely," she stated.

I nodded, but my heart was thundering. I felt like an absolute fool as I turned on my heel and began walking home.

The kiss had meant nothing to her. I was apparently the only one affected by it. I couldn't figure out why I was so miserable.

Suddenly I was lonelier than I'd been in my entire life—and that was pretty damn lonely.

~/YB\\~

_**Private Internet Chat Room**_

_** Bella:**__ Guys, I have a hypothetical question. Is it possible to enjoy kissing a guy that you don't like?  
><em>_** Rosalie:**__ I've never kissed a guy I didn't like, but I guess it might be possible if he was a good kisser.  
><em>_** Angie:**__ If you don't like him, then why is his mouth close enough to yours to even kiss?  
><em>_** Bella:**__ I said it was hypothetical.  
><em>_** Angie:**__ Did Edward kiss you?  
><em>_** Bella:**__ What are you, psychic?  
><em>_** Angie: **__Oh. My. God! He did kiss you, didn't he!__**  
>Bella: <strong>__It wasn't a real kiss.  
><em>_** Rosalie:**__ Describe a false kiss._

_Grr. _ I wished I hadn't desperately needed help trying to understand what I'd felt on that hilltop.

_** Bella: **__Okay. So maybe it was a real kiss. But it didn't mean anything.  
><em>_** Angie:**__ But you liked it?_

I took a deep breath. These were my two best friends. I couldn't admit anything to them.

_** Bella: **__Yeah.  
><em>_** Rosalie:**__ What are you going to do?  
><em>_** Bella:**__ Try to forget it. He's completely wrong for me. He's not French; he's not romantic. And worse, he's from Forks. He is most definitely not my goal for this year in Paris.**  
>Rosalie:<strong>__ Well, maybe he is the ONE for you.  
><em>_** Angie:**__ Yeah, maybe your plan to be romanced by a French guy isn't what your heart wants. Think about it._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Notes:<strong>

Hmm... You think these two crazy kids will finally admit their feelings for one another, or will they be as stubborn as can be?_** Or**_ will Bell and Edward stick to their plans for the year? Stay tuned and find out!

**PLEASE PLEASE! ****Keep those reviews coming! I REALLY like to know what you guys are thinking about the story! **

Oh and one more thing! Go check out my LiveJournal! I finally made a banner for this story! here's the link: **http:/ edwardcullenslo. livejournal. com/** _ (just remove the spaces!)_**_  
><em>**


	9. Chapter Nine: Practice Date

So sorry it took so long for an update! I've been swamped with homework, church, and work! But anywho, here it is!

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><p><strong>Chapter Nine: Practice Date<br>**

_Bella_

I loved my sketching class. Where else but Paris could I have three art classes, each one of them so incredibly different, yet each teaching me fundamentals that eased over into the other classes?

I got high marks for my Eiffel Tower sketch. I glanced across the room at Edward. I couldn't understand why he hadn't turned in his sketch. I wondered if he'd become self-conscious when I'd shown him my sketch.

It's been three days since our kiss, and I still couldn't get that kiss out of my mind. Whenever the teacher swept their hands and said to put more passion into my work, I thought of that kiss. Its warmth, its power. The sunset. It was so amazing the way everything had woven together like a perfect painting to create a lifelong memory.

Yet all of it, particularly the kiss, had meant absolutely _nothing_ to him. He probably didn't even remember how _incredible_ the sensations created by our mouths touching. He'd certainly rushed over to my house fast enough to make sure I knew that the kiss meant nothing. And that _really_ hurt. More than I'd expected it to.

I knew it shouldn't have. I mean, he'd been upfront before he even touched his mouth to mine. It was the artist demanding the kiss.

Not the _guy._

And I was glad. I really was, because the _last_ thing I wanted was to fill this year with memories of kisses given by a guy from Forks High.

I had to drag my attention away from Edward when the teacher was talking. It was easier to understand what my teachers were saying. I figured by the time this year was over, I'd be fluent in French.

Madame Trudi explained that she was going to pair us up for a special project. She began calling out names. Girl, boy, girl, boy. I listened intently for my name.

"Bella! Edward!"

It would just be my luck that I was paired with him! I groaned and slid my gaze to Edward. He had buried his head in his hands. I figured he was just as thrilled that we were paired, that I was.

When Madame Trudi finished calling out the names, she told us to sit next to our partners. Why would she pair the two Americans!

I watched as Edward made his way over to where I was sitting. The glower on his face was _almost_ comical.

"Can you believe our damn luck?" he asked in a low voice. "I hoping she'd pair me up with Tanya."

"I wanted Luc," I whispered back.

"Nous allons passer à la forme humaine,"_ We are going to move on to the human form. _Madame Trudi explained. "D'abord, les dames esquisser les messieurs puis à la fin de la semaine prochaine les messieurs esquisser les dames. Messieurs, vous vous tiendrez devant vos partenaires et retirez vos chemises." _First the ladies will sketch the gentlemen and then at the end of next week the gentlemen will sketch the ladies. Gentlemen, you will stand before your partners and remove your shirts._

My mouth dropped open, and Edward's eyes went as wide as saucers.

"She's kidding, right?" he asked in a low voice.

I heard chairs scraping across the floor and girls giggling. "I don't think so." I smiled. "After all, this is _Paris._"

Edward slowly stood. He jerked off his _Gladiator_ t-shirt, depicting Russell Crowe in full armor. In stunned fascination, I watched Edward's muscles ripple.

Wow ! His cycling clothes has given me an idea of his shape, but seeing the actual hardened muscles was something else. This guy obviously works out! Who would have thought that a cyclist could look so powerful? An _artistic_ cyclist at that. Edward was a contradiction to everything I believed.

And he wore an adorable yet sexy at the same time blush. It started at his neck and went right up into his hair.

"Will you start sketching?" he ordered. "The sooner you finish, the sooner I can put my shirt back on."

"Oh, right," was my genius reply as I sat up straighter, and put my feet on his chair. Then I set my notepad against my legs.

Like all the girls in class, I took a quick glance around the room, comparing the models. I had definitely, much to my surprise, gotten the best. Even Luc didn't have the muscles as defined as Edward's.

With Edward glaring at the far corner of the room, I settled back to slowly, ever so slowly, sketch that amazing torso.

~/ /YB\ \~

"In a million years, I never would have guessed that Edward Cullen had a great body!" I told Alice as we wondered through a very chic clothing store.

I wanted something special to wear for my practice date. I'd purposely saved all my money from my after-school job back in Forks, so I could buy something in Paris.

Because who could come to Paris, and _not_ shop for clothes! This city had set the fashion trends for hundreds of years, and I absolutely could not come here without buying at least one designer dress.

"Maybe he is your destiny," Alive said.

I almost tripped over my feet. "What?"

"Fate keeps putting you together," she explained.

"No, the _teachers_ keep putting us together," I mumbled as I lifted a straight black lace one shoulder dress off the rack. I imagined it with a colorful scarf tied at the waist.

"I think he's cute!" Alice offered.

I wouldn't admit that in a thousand years. It somehow seemed a betrayal to myself. "He's okay," I muttered.

I didn't want to think about him. So, instead I focused on finding an outfit for my special date tonight. My first real date with a Frenchie.

"With the right accessories, it would be perfect," Alice commented on the black dress I took off the rack.

The right accessories ended up being a necklace that was a wide band of silver. It looked something like what Cleopatra would have worn. Little silver studs for my ears, and a silver belt that looped around my waist, and draped down one side. And silver three-inch peep-toe heels. It was so classy.

~ / /YB\ \~

As I stared in the mirror, I didn't recognize myself. I looked sophisticated, sexy even. My makeup was flawless, thanks to Alice. And my hair was swept back into a French braid.

I turned slowly in front of the three-way mirror, and wondered what Edward would think of the outfit.

_Why would you care what Edward thinks?_ I thought to myself. I rolled my eyes, I could care less what he thought. I really could. Still… I wondered.

~/YB\\~

During dinner with my host family, I could hardly contain my excitement about the evening. I was going on my first date with a _French_ guy: François Merlot.

His name even sounded romantic! Even though this was a practice date, I had hopes that it might end up being more. My first week in Paris was nearing an end, and I didn't want to spend much more time looking for Mr. Romantic. Every day that passed was one day less that I'd have with him.

"How are you enjoying school?" Monsieur Trouvel asked.

"It's a lot different from Forks, that's for sure!" I enthused. "_Especially _the art classes."

"In what way? Monsieur Trouvel asked.

"Well, for one thing, I can't imagine _any_ art teacher back home telling the guys to take their shirts off," I explained.

"It's important for an artist to understand the human form," Madame Trouvel told me. "Someone once told me that da Vinci studied cadavers.:

A chill went through me. "I'd rather use live people, thank you very much!" I admitted. "Although, I'm not sure how I'm going to gather up the courage to remove_ my _shirt during class."

Everyone at the table burst out laughing. Causing me to turn as red as a tomato.

"French schools aren't _that _risqué! You'll be instructed to wear a bathing suit that day under your clothes." Alice explained.

Relief spread through me. "Thank God for _that!_"

As soon as we were finished eating, Alice and I were excused. We raced upstairs to get ready for our dates.

I_ really _loved how the black dress looked on me. It was a simple one shoulder dress that had a layer of black lace, but it hung perfectly over my short frame. It actually made me look taller.

I put on my accessories. And noticed compared to the black I was _so _pale!

_How was it that Edward was so bronzed—_

_Stop that thought right now!_ I ordered myself.

I couldn't figure out _why_ Edward tripped through my mind every five seconds.

I was about to go on a date with a real French guy!

So why wasn't I excited? And why did I keep thinking about Edward, boring Edward from Forks, Washington?

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Notes:<strong>

I wish I went to a high school like the one Bella is going to! Darn! Ohhhh! I think our little Bella is starting to realize that kiss meant more than she wanted to let on! Next chapter is Edward's side!

You can see Bell's dress, shoes and necklace here: http:/ / edwardcullenslo. livejournal. com/ (just remove the spaces!)

I also posted the banner that I made for the story there as well!

Now please review! I know that there's people out there reading, I just want to hear from you guys!


	10. Chapter Ten: Romantic End To The Night

******So here's chapter 10! And as always: I do not own anything _Twilight_, that's the genius Mrs. Stephenie Meyer. But I do own the DVD of Breaking Dawn! It's awesome!**

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><p><strong>Chapter Ten: Romantic End To The Night<strong>

_Edward_

My host brother, Michael Renaldie, and I were prowling the nightlife in Paris. It was different than cruising around in Forks. The popular spots in Forks was the diner, Bella Italia, and the bowling alley. Except on Friday nights. Then it was the stadium in the fall and the gym in the winter. Football and basketball. Spring and summer, it was the baseball fields.

Dances were limited pretty much to Sadie Hawkins, Homecoming, Spring Fling, and of course the Prom.

In Forks, we didn't really have any hot spots unless beneath the stadium bleachers counted. I'd never taken a girl there. I don't know. It just seemed…unromantic. And since I wasn't a romantic guy, I imagined girls rated it as less than unromantic.

Paris is filled with lights. Dazzling. No wonder it's called the City of Light.

Michael knew all the right places to go. Where kids our age tended to hang out.

With luck, tonight I would meet _Miss Take My Mind Off My Trouble_s. A Parisian beauty who spoke little English.

We walked into a place that would be considered a nightclub in Forks. But here it was more like a dance club. It looked and catered to the under-twenty crowd. A live band had music bouncing off the walls while the band was bouncing over the stage. Laser lights beamed through the darkness.

Tables surrounded the dance floor, which was in the center of the club. I didn't see any empty tables, and there wasn't a lot of elbow room on the dance floor.

"We should have gotten here earlier," Michael stated.

"I don't mind standing," I practically screamed in his ear, because the music was so loud.

I spotted three empty chairs. But the table wasn't empty. It was occupied by a lone girl. A very classy yet sexy looking girl dressed in black. I tapped Michael on the shoulder and pointed towards the table.

He nodded, which I took to mean it was okay to ask to share the table. I wasn't really up on French dating etiquette. Somehow that aspect of French culture never came up in the French class I took back at Forks High.

Avoiding the gyrating bodies of the dancers and the elbows of people sitting at tables, I headed toward the lone girl and the three vacant chairs.

A few steps later, I stopped short. Michael smacked into me. I couldn't believe it. The girl was Bella.

She gazed longingly at the dance floor, her chin resting in the palm of her hand, If I'd been smart, I'd have turned around and head for the farthest corner of the room, or better yet, I would have beat a hasty retreat for the door. But apparently I had yet to unpack my intelligence.

I found myself striding to her table.

"What are _you_ doing here?" I asked once I got close enough that a moderate shout would suffice in order to be heard.

She jerked back as if I'd woken her up. With disappointment reflected in her eyes, she pointed towards a guy on t, she pointed towards a guy on the dance floor, and a guy dancing with two girls. "My date!" She leaned over and shouted over the loud music.

I couldn't help myself. I smiled broadly. "Yeah, he seems to be a _very_ romantic guy!" I yelled back.

With a disgusted look she punched me playfully on the shoulder. I jabbed my fingers over my shoulder. "This is my host brother, Michael."

Without missing a beat or letting the introduction cool, Michael took her hand and said, "Let's dance."

Bella looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. Her surprised expression quickly changed, and she looked pleased as Michael led her to the dance floor.

I dropped into a chair so we wouldn't lose the table. I was slightly pissed that Michael had asked her to dance before I got the chance to. I guess French guys work fast. I also didn't like the way Michael looked at Bella—she was something to eat. Not that I could blame him. She looked sexy. She resembled a model in that black dress. And she was wearing more makeup than I'd ever seen her wear on that beautiful face of hers.

Don't get me wrong, the makeup wasn't too heavy, but I'd noticed in the dim light that it covered up the few freckles on her nose up.

The music finally stopped, and Michael escorted her back to the table. I expected her date to return, but the guy was apparently too busy talking with another set of girls. _Talk about a rude date! _I thought to myself. Bella looked so forlorn.

When the music started up again, I grabbed her hand. "Come on."

She staggered after me. I stopped, stared at her, and suddenly realized why she looked like a model. She was wearing extremely high heels. They looked practically like stilts. "How can you walk in those things?"

"With a great deal of discomfort," she admitted.

I knelt down and slapped my thigh. "Come on. Let's take them off."

Her mouth gaped open. "I can't take off these shoes."

"Sure you can," I explained calmly, or would have if it weren't for the music being so loud. As it was, I was shouting calmly. "It's better than breaking your neck."

With a sigh, she put her foot up on my thigh. I slipped the strap off her heel, and slipped the shoe off her foot. She had tiny feet. I could see where the straps had cut across he arch. Without thinking about what I was doing, I started to rub her foot. It had to ache.

I stopped rubbing and glanced up at her. She was staring at me, her mouth slightly open. I figured I'd overstepped some unwritten dating code…like you can't touch a girl's foot unless she's your date or something.

"Other foot!" I yelled over the music.

She put her other foot up on my thigh, then I quickly removed the shoe, and decided not to give this foot the Cullen treatment, since she didn't seem too happy about it when I did. I stood up and looked at the spiked heels. "Man, these could be used a damn weapon."

"But they're pretty, and they make my legs look sexy," she explained.

"Your legs are sexy without them," I told her, and put the shoes on the table. Then I took her hand and led her to the dance floor. It wasn't until we were on the dance floor that I noticed that our touching created electric current coursing through my skin.

The fast beat that had been playing suddenly dimmed down into a slow song. I gave Bella an apologetic shrug, not sure if she would feel comfortable with our bodies pressed so close, especially after that kiss on the hilltop. "Go or stay?" I asked.

"She hesitated for a moment before saying, "Stay."

Until she spoke, I didn't realize how badly I was hoping she would stay. I drew Bella into my arms and pulled her closer to my body. I was unsettled by how _perfectly_ she fit. It was as if the curve of my shoulder had been shaped for her face.

I was supposed to be searching for a French hottie to spend the rest of the year with. Instead, I was content to be exactly where I was; with Bella Swan. I wasn't thinking about my problems. I was concerned with hers.

How hard could it be to find a romantic guy in Paris?

The music drifted off into silence, and Bella stepped out of my embrace.

"Thank you for the dance," she said softly.

I shrugged. "Anytime."

She turned and walked towards the table, with me following her. Alice came over, and a blond-haired guy in tow. She introduced him as her boyfriend, Jasper.

"I'm so sorry," Alice announced. "I can't believe François is acting like such an ass. Jasper is pissed with him."

Bella waved her hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. It was just a practice date."

_Huh? Why in the world would Bella Swan need a practice date?_ She'd had a boyfriend in Forks. Okay, so maybe Jacob Black wasn't a great example. I couldn't remember ever actually seeing them in date mode.

"Want to leaves?" I asked. "I'll take you home."

She smiled sadly. "I can't. I'm on a date."

Do you really think François is going to notice?" I asked as kindly as I could.

She glanced at the dance floor, where François was gyrating like a scarecrow caught in the winds of a hurricane. "You're right. Let's go."

I grabbed her shoes and tapped Michael on the shoulder. "I'm going to take Bella home. I'll catch you later."

He nodded.

I escorted Bella through the club and out the door into the night. The lights of Paris surrounded us. We'd have to catch a bus to get home, but I hated taking her home when she looked so down.

"Let's walk along the Seine," I suggested.

Her eyes brightened briefly. "Okay."

"Do you want to put your shoes back on?" I asked.

She shook her head. "My hose will get ruined, but it feels too good to have them off. But I'll carry them"

"Nah, that's all right." I said as I shoved one in each pocket.

"Don't forget to give them back to me," she commanded. "You _still_ have my pink hat."

And it was _still_ hanging on the post of my bed.

"I won't forget," I promised.

We strolled along the Right Bank, the north side of the river, known mostly for its dedication to the art and artistic. The river was beautiful. The lights of the Eiffel Tower, museums, and fantastic buildings reflected off it.

For reasons I couldn't explain, it hurt to see Bella disappointed about evening. "François was an ass," I announced.

She shrugged. "I know."

I couldn't believe the guy didn't realize what an amazing person Bella is.

"Blind dates can be a bummer," I pointed out.

She gave me a half smile. "Tell me about it."

"Okay, since you asked, I will. A friend set me up with a girl this summer-Tanya and I were taking a break. She was a vegetarian. Not that there's anything wrong with being a vegetarian. But when I ordered a steak, she shrieked," I explained.

Her eyes widened. "You're kidding."

"Nope," I said popping the P. "Everyone in the restaurant turned to stare at us."

A real smile started to play at the corners of her mouth.

"Then when the food got there, and I cut into my steak, she said I was cruel to animals," I told Bella.

Her mouth blossomed into a smile. I decided to exaggerate a little.

"When I began chewing my steak, she started crying and blubbering about the poor cow. How mean I was, and how heartless. _I_ didn't kill the cow! I was just eating it," I pointed out.

Bella started laughing.

"The waiter had to bring an extra tablecloth over to dry her tears," I enthused, really getting into this tale of woe.

She laughed even harder. _Man, I love her laugh._ I thought.

"Did you stop eating the steak?" she asked.

"Are you kidding? I ordered another one!"

She slapped my arm. "You did not!"

"No, but I thought about it," I admitted.

"Did you ever ask her out again?" she asked.

"No, I just couldn't deal with the guilt. That night I dreamed that the ghosts of cows were haunting me," I teased.

She laughed until she had tears in her eyes. "Thank you, Edward," she said when she finally stopped laughing.

But it wasn't enough. Telling her a silly story about my vegetarian date. I didn't want her first date in Paris to be a bad memory.

I grabbed her hand. "Come on, let's take a _bateau mouche."_

We hurried along the bank of the Seine until we reached one of the pickup points for the _bateaux mouches_. I bought tickets and we rushed onto the boat just before it pulled away from the dock.

Bella stood at the railing, gazing out on what I figured was the most romantic river in the world. I could certainly understand why she expected some French guy to sweep her off her feet. Paris had been built for romance. Even I could see that, and _romance_ was a word that seldom strayed in my vocabulary. But I could see it all around us here.

Lovers strolled along the river in the moonlight. The horn of the boat sounded, an eerie echo that was romantic in its own way. We could see the Eiffel Tower, and I thought of Bella sitting on the hilltop with the sun setting over Paris.

And I thought of that kiss. I wasn't a novice when it came to kissing, but with Bella, I'd felt like kissing her was all that mattered.

Definitely not what I wanted to be thinking about.

The breeze from the river was toying with her hair. I had a sudden strong urge to play with it. To wrap a lock around me fingers. My stomach was starting to knot up, I didn't want to think of this girl as anyone important. She was just someone from home I was trying to be nice to. Or so I kept telling myself.

But the lights of the city glistened off her hair, and reflected in her eyes. I needed a distraction.

"I can't wait until you have to take your shirt off in art class," I announced, surprised by the huskiness in my voice. I'd intended the words to be a joke. Instead they ended up sounding like something I really couldn't wait for.

She slid that enticing brown gaze my way. "I'll be wearing a bathing suit."

"No way!" I exclaimed. I feigned anger. "That's not fair. At least tell me that it's a two-piece."

Smiling sweetly, she shook her head. "One-piece."

Man, how am I supposed to learn how to drawn the human form, if I can't see most of it?" I inquired.

"Use your imagination," she challenged.

And _that_ was my problem. A _huge_ problem. I had way too much of an imagination. Heck, I already had her starring in my first full-length animated feature—and I wasn't even a cartoonist!

"Think I'll file a complaint with the school board," I muttered. "Unfair practices."

She laughed softly. "Do they even _have_ a school board here?"

I shrugged. "Who knows?"

She leaned over the railing and sighed wistfully. "I love this city."

I couldn't believe how much I wanted to kiss her again, but that one kiss had kept me up all night—no way could I make that mistake again.

She was so sweet. So much sweeter than Tanya was, and much more than I wanted her to be. What would one more little kiss hurt? I leaned toward her.

"Somewhere out there, the most romantic guy in Paris is waiting for me," she murmured dreamily.

Reality came crashing back. Neither of us needed that kiss. She probably didn't even want it.

Bella Swan wanted a French guy to fall in love with her this year.

And me? I didn't want anyone who might still be around when the year was over. Or so I keep telling myself…

~/ /YB\ \~

_Private Internet Chat Room_

**_Bella:_ **_My practice date was awful._

_**Angela: **What happened?_

**_Bella:_ **_Francois was a party guy. Unfortunately, he wanted to  
>party with everyone but me.<em>

**_Angela:_ **_Sorry to hear about that. I have a blind date tomorrow, and I'm not looking forward to it._

_**Rosalie:**Emmett set up with one of his friends. The problem is… I wish my date was with Emmett.___

_**Bella:**__ I understand completely. He is so hot, Rosalie!___

_**Rosalie: **__Well, I'm sorry your night was a total bummer___

_**Bella:**__ It wasn't a total bummer. Edward was there.___

_**Angela:**__ What was he doing there?___

_**Bella:**__ He just showed up at the dance place with his host brother. He took me on a romantic boat ride along the Seine River.___

_**Angela:**__ Romantic?___

_**Bella:**__ Very romantic._

I'd been unable to believe how romantic it had all been: with the lights reflecting off the river, him carrying my shoes, his nearness as I stood at the rail. I hesitated before confessing what would have made the moment perfect.

_**Bella: **__For a moment there, I thought he was going to kiss me again. And the worse thing is that I really wanted him to._

* * *

><p><strong>End Chapter Notes:<strong>_  
><em>

Hmmm... I wonder what's going to happen next? And seriously Paris is themost romantic city in the world. You just can't go there and NOT walk along the Seine River or ride the river boats!

**Any who... I want to see more reviews! I may pull out my stubborn streak and not post anything until I get more reviews! Don't make me do that now! :0) **


	11. Chapter Eleven: Not At School

**R/e: **Sorry it's been so long since I posted the last chapter! I've had a boatload of homework lately, and I've been beta'ing and writing this chapter. I can thoroughly say I'm pooped! Lol. Anyways, here's chapter eleven. Oh, and of course I do not own anything that Stephenie Meyer created, I just own a copy of those awesome books! So without further ado... Chapter Eleven!

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><p><strong>Chapter Eleven: Not At School<strong>

**_Bella_**

On Monday morning I stared at the empty chair beside me in sculpting class. _Where was Edward?_

As my hands continued to shaped the clay into what might pass- with a great deal of imagination- for a vase, I couldn't stop thinking about Edward. Or our romantic boat ride along the Seine River.

It had been incredible. He was fun to be with and had made me laugh. After he walked me home, I'd changed some of his scores on my rating chart. Not because I was considering him as a possible boyfriend. I definitely was not doing that. But since Alice had forced me to rate him to begin with, it seemed only fair to be honest about his scores. I knew he'd hoped to meet a French girl at the dance club. Instead he'd sacrificed his night to make me feel better. I didn't want to think about how romantic that was.

Plus, it made absolutely no sense.

Edward was from my hometown, for goodness sakes. He shouldn't have a romantic bone in his glorious body, and yet somehow whenever I was with him, as corny as it may sound, I thought of violins, starry nights, and dancing at midnight.

As much as I fought it, I enjoyed being with Edward. If I could just tone down my enjoyment so it resembled friendship instead of something more… I might be okay. I definitely did not want any romantic involvement with Edward Cullen.

Yet, I keep telling myself that, but I keep on thinking about him; I can't get him out of my head. It was as if someone had painted his portrait on the back of my brain. And of course, I has to see him with that sexy crooked smile! That image followed me from class to class. Worse—disappointment hit me everytime I got to one of my art classes, and he wasn't there. Where was he? Why wasn't he in class? Had he dropped the art classes because he realized he had no talent?

As much as I wanted to admit it, by the end of the day I was actually _desperate_ to see him. Just to make sure he was okay.

I had just gotten my books out of my locker when I spotted Edward's host brother, Michael, walking down the hallway. I called out to him.. He immediately stopped, and I rushed over.

"Edward wasn't in any of my classes today," I announced.

He looked at me as if he expected me to say more. Honestly, sometimes guys can be so dense!

"Do you know where he is?" I asked.

Michael shrugged. "Edward gets up and rides his bicycle at five every morning. This morning he wasn't back before I left for school."

My heart pounded against my ribs as I thought about how fast Edward rode his bike. What if he he'd lost control, and tumbled down a hill? "Don't you think you should be worried?" I demanded.

Michael glanced around as if he didn't know what to say. Finally he met my gaze. "He's a big boy. I'm sure he can take care of himself."

"But what if something happened to him?" I insisted. "What if he's hurt?"

"I think my parents would have called the school if there was any problem," he explained.

"But what if they didn't know? What if—"

He laughed loudly, his laughter echoing between the lockers. "Do you Americans always worry this much?" He angled his head slightly. :Or are you just worried about Edward?"

I stiffened. "I'm not worried about him…I just…" Was worried about him. Not because I cared about him romantically or anything. I mean, we came from the same hometown. That forced an unwanted bond between us.

I slung my backpack over my shoulder. "Just call me if he's not home when you get there," I ordered.

~/ /YB\ \~

The problem with being artistic is that I can see things in such vivid colors. Blood is a bright red. Bruises are a deep purple. Scrapes look like they hurt.

I kept having these horrible visions of a wounded Edward calling out for help. While I was sitting at the table in the Trouvel home eating _pain au chocolat_. The flaky pastry with a chocolate bar nestled inside was a popular after-school snack.

Madame Trouvel and Alice were talking quietly beside me. Madame Trouvel always wanted to know how our day at school went. It was nice sitting here after a grueling day of studies. Normally it helped me unwind. But today, I felt like one of those springs in a mechanical wind-up toy that gets wound up tighter and tighter. Then when it's released, it hops over the table and topples off.

"Bella, what's wrong?" Madame Trouvel asked.

I jerked out of my dire thoughts and announced, "Edward wasn't in school today. Michael doesn't know why he didn't go to school. I don't even think he knows where he is."

"Maybe you should call him," Madame Trouvel suggested.

I balked at the thought of that. :I don't want him to get the wrong impression."

"What wrong impression?" Alice asked. "That you care?"

"I don't care about him," I insisted while a little voice in the back of my mind called me a liar. "I mean, I don't care about him personally, but he is my sketch project." The little voice in my head yelled that was another lie. I had memorized every line of his torso. I could draw him in my sleep. And that was a very disturbing thought.

"He is far from home with no one to call him," Madame Trouvel reminded me. "I think you should do it as a courtesy, one American to another."

Relief coursed through me. "Right," I acknowledged. "One American to another." Nothing personal. I would be like an ambassador of goodwill.

I excused myself from the table and hurried to my room. Sitting at my desk, I located Michael's number in the school directory and grabbed my cell phone, and dialed it.

My heart was hammering. Michael answered, and I asked to speak with Edward. An eternity seemed to pass before Edward finally came on the phone

"Why weren't you at school today?" I immediately demanded, hating the concern clearly reflected in my voice.

"I didn't feel like going to school today," he replied.

_Didn't feel like going to school? _ "You mean, you didn't feel good?" I asked. "As in sick?"

"Sure," he responded, but there was a strangeness to his voice, an emptiness I'd never noticed before. "Look, I gotta go," he announced.

Before I could respond, he hung up. I stared at my cell phone. U had allowed _this_ guy to fill my head with romantic notions? Had actually thought he was romantic? Obviously I was becoming so desperate for romance that I was seeing it in where it had no possibility of existing.

~ / /YB\ \~

Two days later I was sitting on the steps outside Michael's house. Edward still hadn't come to school. Michael would only shrug when I asked him about Edward. Some host brother he was turning out to be. I'd rang the doorbell, but no one was home.

Naturally, my creative mind imagined Edward being rushed to the emergency room with a burst appendix or something worse. But my rational mind insisted that I stay put. Sooner or later someone would come home, and I'd get to the bottom of Edward's disappearance.

_I didn't care about him personally_—I repeated that litany over and over. I did not care about him, but his absence was affecting my sketch project, and that I did care about.

My mouth dropped open when I saw a bicyclist whizzing along the street. I recognized the person's body. Heck, I would recognize that body anywhere! He didn't feel well enough to come to school, but he felt well enough to ride his bike? If I wasn't so angry, I would have been relieved.

Edward brought his bicycle to a skidding halt and removed his helmet. "What are _you_ doing here?" he asked, clearly annoyed.

Incredulous, I slowly rose to my feet. "Don't you realize that they'll send you back home if you skip classes?"

He shrugged. "Let them send me home. It wasn't my idea to come here in the first place."

I couldn't believe his attitude. He seemed so different from the guy who had rescued me from the blind date Saturday night. Had I done something wrong? I stepped closer to him.

"What's wrong?" I asked him.

He started chaining his bike to the wrought iron fence in front of the house. "Nothing."

"Nothing," I muttered. His attitude was really irritating. He was making me feel like I was a pesky fly buzzing around his face!

"Fine!" I snapped. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's just _fine_ with me! But I am _not_ going to fail my sketching class, because you're suddenly homesick!"

He bolted upright. "I'm not homesick!"

"Whatever," I said, with a wave of my hand. "I've got my sketch pad and a project to finish. You're taking off your shirt, buddy. NOW!"

I couldn't believe that Edward had actually been cooperative. He'd invited me into his host family's home even. We went to the den. It was a small room filled with bookshelves and a large fireplace. Right now, no fire blazed within the hearth, but I was way too warm anyway—just looking at Edward and that damn sexy body that was so defined, did it to me. Forks _definitely_ needed a cycling team! I was actually considering heading a committee to push for one when I got home! Not that I wanted to win points with Edward. I had realized he was absolutely nonromantic.

He had removed his shirt. But he stood beside the hearth, glaring at a distant wall. Impatience shimmered off of him like the noonday sun was off hot asphalt.

Sitting on the couch, I remembered how he'd glared in class as well. The guy obviously didn't like to show off those amazing muscles. But there was something different about him this time.

I studied the portion of the sketch I'd done in class. I'd managed to do most of his face. I'd left off his mouth, hoping at some point before I was finished that he'd give me one of his sexy lopsided grins. But I'd drawn his eyes, shaded them…glaring eyes.

I glanced up at him, nearly taken aback by the difference in his eyes. Now I noticed what I hadn't before. His eyes contained profound sadness.

More than homesickness was involved.

"What's wrong?" I blurted out.

He slid his gaze to me. "I don't want to do this stupid project."

I sat my sketch pad aside, and leaned forward, bracing my arms on my thighs. "I'm serious Edward. Something is upsetting you."

"Will you just fucking draw already?" he demanded impatiently.

I honestly thought the guy was going to cry. I could see him swallowing repeatedly, and he was looking at every object in the room, but me. A horrible thought occurred to me. "Is your host family abusing you?" I asked softly.

A corner of his mouth lifted in a sad sort of smile. "No, Bella. It's nothing like that."

But it was something. Without realizing it, he'd admitted _something_ was wrong. "What is it then? I prodded gently. "Did someone die?"

"Not someone. _Something._ My parent's marriage died." He sank on the floor as if defeated. "My coming here was their idea. Mainly so I could get over Tanya. But also, so they could work on their marriage. But they gave up. They just told me that their getting a divorce. The sad part about all of this, is that they're acting like it won't have any effect on me. But it does."

My heart went out to him. Although it had been years since my parents had split up, I could still remember the raw edge of that pain. It lessened overtime, but I wasn't sure it would ever totally go away completely. Sometimes I imagined they would get back together. My head knew it was an absolute impossibility… but my heart refused to believe it.

I slid off the couch and sat beside Edward on the floor. "You seemed fine when we were together Saturday night. What happened?"

He sighed heavily. "My mom called on Sunday. She gave me my dad's new phone number, and told me that they decided to get a divorce. He's moved out, has his own place, and it just made the whole situation more real. That even though they have been trying, their marriage is over-it's not going to work out. I can't bring myself to call my dad. It's strange, I don't have his number memorized. I have to look at a piece of paper to call my dad. I guess I'm pretty mad at him. At both of them really."

"After she told me that they're getting a divorce, I said I should come home, but my mom said it would be better if I wasn't there to. I don't totally agree."

I wanted to comfort Edward as I'd never wanted to comfort anyone. I took his hand, glad he didn't resist. His hand was so much larger than mine that I wasn't certain my small hand could offer him much comfort. "When I was ten, my parents got a divorce. The hardest part was realizing that their divorce wasn't my fault. I kept thinking if only I'd kept my room clean or been more polite, or made better grades…"

He nodded slightly. "I keep thinking if I'd gotten involved in school sports or didn't spend so much time drawing or have been so depressed over Tanya, my parents might have stayed together. So many of the things I do, I do alone. Maybe if I'd involved my parents…"

I touched his cheek. "They fell out of love with each other, Edward. They didn't fall out of love with _you. _Nothing you did or didn't do caused their divorce to happen."

He took my hand from his cheek and laced our fingers together. He held my gaze, and I felt like I was swirling endlessly in those soulful green eyes of his. I could actually see his pain, his frustration, and his doubts.

"What finally convinced you that it wasn't your fault?" he asked huskily.

"It wasn't any one thing," I explained. "Divorce is like death. You mourn, you hurt, and you start to heal. My parents are so much happier now. As difficult as it still is sometimes, I know it's a good thing that they didn't stay together."

"I'm a long way from feeling like this divorce is a good thing," he confided.

I squeezed his hands. "It was incredibly hard watching my dad pack up his things and carry the boxes out to a moving van. That tore me up inside. Maybe your parents are right. It'll be easier not seeing everything."

He shook his head. "No. When I left Forks, I had a home and a family. When I get back, I'll have nothing.

* * *

><p><strong>End Chapter Notes: <strong>So there you have it. The real reason why Edward is in Paris for the year. I've been battling over whether I wanted it to be divorce or a death, I went with the divorce. Also note that it isn't Esme and Carlisle that are Edward's parent's; it's Carlisle and Elizabeth (In twilight it's Edward's biological mother). But I just might bring Esme in somewhere into the story, because Esme is so sweet!

I personally have not experienced divorce, but I have enough friends that have, and with their help I was able to bring out the feelings that one might feel if their parents get a divorce.

So keep those reviews coming! I promise my head won't get too big! ;-P


	12. Chapter Twelve: Realization

**Note: So sorry it's been so long since I've updated! Classes have been absolutely CRAZY! So to make it up, I'm posting two chapters!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twelve: Realization<strong>

_Edward_

The following morning Michael and I were cycling outside of Paris. I really couldn't have asked for a better host brother. He'd told me that Bella had been asking about me at school, but he hadn't told her I was in a "black" mood, as he called it. Michael had left me to sulk, which was exactly what I thought I wanted.

Until Bella had shown up on the doorstep.

I started pedaling harder, feeling the burning in my calves and thighs that meant I was pushing myself. But I wanted to do more than push _myself_. I wanted to push away thoughts of my parent's pending divorce, but more, I wanted to push away my thoughts of Bella.

Or more specifically, the attraction I was feeling towards her. It would have been incredibly easy yesterday afternoon to pull her into my arms and kiss her until she was speechless. I couldn't believe how badly I'd wanted to do just that. When she'd touched my cheek, I'd felt a jolt of electricity shock my system.

She was tender and gentle, with the sweetest smile and kindest eyes. I hadn't meant to pour out my soul to her, but it had been the most natural thing I had ever experienced. She was kind and generous, and really seemed to care.

"Slow down!" Michael called after me.

But I couldn't. I was scared; scared like I'd never been scared before. I hadn't been this frightened when my parents told me about their taking a break and eventually their impending divorce. I was falling… Falling for Bella _hard._

I knew that emotionally I was a wreck. The disintegration of my family had left me feeling hollow and empty. I needed something to fill that black hole. Bella was convenient, but completely _wrong._ I needed a French girl. I had no intentions of hurting anyone, but with Bella, I would constantly worry I might hurt her. Still, I liked her, and she seemed to like me. The way she looked into my eyes…

I slipped my water bottle out of its holder on my bike and squirted the water on my face. A little shock therapy to bring me back to reality. Bella wanted romance-flowers, poetry, the whole nine yards. And she wanted a French guy. Heck, we were both only going to be here a year. We'd have no other time in our lives when we could get involved with a foreigner. It was this year or never. Frenchies for both of us.

I slowed down, my heart hammering in my chest. I wasn't certain if it was thoughts of Bella causing that reaction or the way I'd barreled down the hill. Michael caught up to me.

"Are you trying to outrace that cute American girl?" he asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied.

He laughed. "You can't get her out of your mind, and riding like a maniac won't help," he assured me.

"I have no interest in Bella. What I'm looking for is a French babe. I thought you were going to help me find one," I reminded him.

He began to peel a banana. When you cycle seriously, you learn to eat, drink, and water the flowers along the roadway, without ever getting off your bike. Sports commentators often remarked on the lovely flowers along that bloomed along the Tour De France routes thanks to the many passing cyclists.

"Maybe I should date Bella," he suggested.

I almost lost my balance and tumbled off my bike.

Michael was good-looking and nice. Intelligent. He had a sense of humor. Heck, he was probably even romantic.

My mouth suddenly went dry, so I squirted water in my mouth before I spoke. "Sure."

That sounded like I didn't care. Unfortunately, I _did._ More than I wanted to admit.

I glanced over at him. "But first you have to help me find a French girl."

He smiled. "A bunch of the kids from our school is meeting at Euro Disney on Saturday. That would be a good place to start."

I'd been to Disney World in Orlando, but visiting the theme park in Paris would be awesome. "I'll be there," I promised.

And I vowed to find someone to make me forget all about my parent's divorce… and more, and to make me forget all about Bella Swan.

~ /YB\ \~

Forgetting about Bella wasn't going to be easy. I finally returned to school on Friday. When I strolled into sculpting class, Bella's face lit up like the damn Christmas lights on Main Street back home. I couldn't remember if anyone had ever looked so happy to see me.

And what made it worse, was how glad _I_ was to see her. Only two days had passed since our last meeting, but it felt like an eternity. These thoughts were exactly what I did not need—or want. I was spending way too much time thinking about her.

I dropped into the chair beside her. I tried to ignore her honeysuckle scent that reminded me so much of home.

"Decided you couldn't run from your troubles, huh?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

I shook my head. "No, just wanted to see you in that bathing suit."

I laughed at the blush that crept from her chin to her hairline. It was such a deep red that I could have sworn she was redder than a tomato.

But in sketching class _I_ was the one who blushed when Bella removed her top. _Edward, don't even go there! Your in school for fucking sake! _I reminded myself.

She wore a royal blue one piece halter bathing suit, it had ties on both her hips, making it cinch up, and it was very low in the back. But it still covered much more than what some of the girls in class wore. Many of the French girls in class weren't nearly as demure. String-bikini tops were in abundance. Some were so skimpy, that they were nothing more than string.

Any normal American male would have appreciated all that this class offered in the way of bare skin. I figured that I was as normal as the came, but I couldn't take my eyes off of Bella. She'd kept her low rise jeans on, because we were only supposed to sketch from the waist up. But I kept wishing we were on the beach somewhere so I could slather suntan lotion on her back and see her bare legs.

"All right, _Cullen_, you've looked—now sketch," she commanded.

"It's not so easy being the model, is it?" I pointed out. "Draw fast," she ordered.

I wanted to, just because she wanted me to. I really did! I didn't want her to feel uncomfortable any longer than necessary. But my hands wouldn't cooperate. They were shaking as I struggled to draw the slender lines and the dainty curves that made up her body.

It had been so easy sketching her on the hilltop—but that was before I realized I was falling in love with her.

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><p><strong>End Chapter Notes:<strong>** Awww! Edward is FINALLY realizing his **his true feelings for Bella. But will he tell her right away? Click the next button to find out!

And keep those reviews coming please! I love hearing from all of you!


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Euro Disney

**A/U: **As promised, here's the second chapter I said I would post!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirteen: Euro Disney<strong>

_Bella_

Euro Disney! I couldn't believe I was at Euro Disney in Paris—a much better place than an art museum to meet guys.

A bunch of kids from my school were meeting at the entrance. I was waiting with Alice and Jasper. Jasper had apologized so many times for the guy he'd set me up with, that it had become a joke. Still, I felt a little like a third wheel standing there with them. He'd offered to set me up with someone else, but I'd declined the generous offer.

By being a "free" agent, I could check out all the guys, and go on rides with different guys.

I realized it would be like going to the Taste of Forks—an annual event held back home where all the local restaurants have booths so everyone can try their food. Only this event would be Taste of Guys in Paris. I would have a sampling of conversation and time spent with several of them.

I recognized several kids from my classes when they arrived. Everyone was excited and in a good mood. This day was going to be GREAT!

Even the arrival of Edward couldn't dampen my mood—although I wasn't real thrilled with how yesterday how glad I was to see him/ I'd been sweltering in class yesterday with his eyes focused on me as he drew my form for our sketch class.

My mouth went dry as I watched him amble over. He was wearing dark blue jeans and a Buzz Lightyear hoodie. I was beginning to think his entire wardrobe was geared towards movies and music groups.

He gave me that sexy lopsided grin and leaned close.

"Checking out the Paris guys?" he asked in a low voice.

I smiled. "You bet. I'm sure Mr. Romantic is here. What are your plans for the day?"

I'm definitely going to find my French dream girl," he assured me.

"Well, that shirt will _definitely_ get you a _girl_," I teased. I'd worn dark blue jeans as well, only mine were low-rise boot cut, and I wore my blue-and-white striped halter top completed my attire.

He glanced down. "You don't think Buzz is sexy?"

I burst out laughing. "Hardly!"

"He's my hero. Besides, someday I'll be doing movies that star guys like this one," he explained.

I raised a brow. "Oh, really? I thought you wanted to be a doctor."

"Computer-animated movies. That's my career path." I could almost see his chest puffing out. "And yes, I wanted to be a doctor, but _not _anymore."

"I'm more of a purist," I explained. "I'm interested in true animation, not computer."

"_Everything_ involves the computer a computer these days," he pointed out.

"But it doesn't all begin with the computer," I insisted. "I'd like to get involved in animated movies that follow old tradition… one drawing at a time."

He looked like I'd just blasted him with Buzz's stun gun.

"You're interested in making animated movies?" he asked.

"Why do you think I'm studying art? I'd love to work for Disney." It had been my dream since I'd seen _The Little Mermaid_.

"Amazing," he murmured. "I want to work for Pixar."

"You're going to have to get over not wanting to show people your work, them," I told him.

He smiled. "You may be right."

They opened the gates at Main Street Station, the gateway to the theme park. People began to jostle each other, trying to get into Euro Disney. I was swept into the crowd and was being pushed forward. I glanced over my shoulder and yelled back at Edward, "Good luck with your search!"

Edward gave me a thumbs-up. Strange how I wished we hadn't gotten separated. And how I really wished he had no luck at all.

~/ /YB\ \~

The kids from our school tended to travel together in clumps of a dozen or so, It made it convenient for getting to know people. While I stood in line for the Big Thunder Mountain ride, I spent a lot of time talking with James Gérard. I'd barely noticed him in our literature class, and now I couldn't figure out why. He was cute and interesting to talk with. I thought it would be fun to ride the roller-coaster-type ride with him.

He shifted slightly, and I could see Edward standing in line right in-front of us. He was talking with a beautiful, dark-haired girl. And bestowing upon her that adorable grin of his.

Jealousy shot through me like a speeding roller coaster. For some strange reason, I wanted him to look at me., leave that girl's side, and go on this ride with me. I wasn't real fond of roller coasters—and even less fond of watching Edward flirt.

I gave myself a mental shake. I was not jealous! I most certainly was not!

"Bella?" James asked.

I jerked my gaze to his. "What?"

"Where were you?" he asked.

I shook my head. "What do you mean?"

"You have not answered a single question I've asked you in the last five minutes," he explained.

I felt the heat suffuse my face. "I'm sorry. I got distracted."

"Does this part of the park make you homesick? It is supposed to resemble the American West," he asked me.

I knew this area of the park had been inspired by the American West. I was a little bit of a Disney nut, admiring a man who encouraged people to follow their dreams. And my dream right now was to become involved with a French guy. I was blowing my chances, because I couldn't keep my attention from wondering to a certain American guy. And thinking about his dream of finding a French girl.

"No, I'm not homesick." I assured him. I leaned close. "To be honest, roller coasters make me a little nervous. I don't mind the speed, but the drops—"

"I will protect you," he promised.

I smiled brightly. His words sounded romantic.

It finally came time for us to load into the train. Even though Edward had stood before us, he was now sitting behind me. I was grateful, I didn't want to see him "protecting" that dark-haired girl.

The train took off, swerving around a bend, and rattled up an incline. Then poor James lost it. As we took the brief plummet, he screamed as if watching the shower scene in _Psycho_. He closed his eyes tightly and scooted down the seat, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the bar across our lap.

I could have sworn I heard Edward laughing hysterically behind me.

When the ride ended, we clambered out of the train. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Edward take the hand of the dark-haired girl who had ridden with him and help her out. James left me to my own devices. He was so pale and sweaty, though, that I decided being a gentleman wasn't on his list of top priorities.

"_Excuse-moi,"_ James said. "My breakfast is not going to stay put."

I watched him hurry away. So much for romance. But at least he'd been considerate enough to explain his hasty retreat.

Edward chuckled as he walked past me and said in a low voice, "Would love to see that guy on a real roller-coaster ride."

I couldn't help myself from laughing. As far as roller-coasters went, this one was really tame.

Maybe I'd have better luck at the next ride.

I just sorta followed a group from one ride to the next, meeting a guy here and there, but no one who really impressed me as Mr. Romantic. I was getting quite bummed out and thoroughly disappointed.

We finally arrived at the Pirates of the Caribbean, and as fate would have it, Edward ended up sitting beside me in the boat. I really didn't like the way my heart did a little dance against my ribs.

"Having fun?" he asked.

"How can you _not_ have fun here?" I asked.

"It's magical. All right, whether it's in English or French," he admitted.

The boat left the dock, humming along. We watched robotic pirates plunder an eighteenth-century Spanish fortress in a crescendo of explosions. When we floated by a setting that included robotic women, I leaned toward Edward. "Maybe one of those is your French dream girl."

He laughed. "Any one of those robotic dolls comes closer to being what I want, than anyone I've met today."

"What about the girl you were talking to at Thunder Mountain?" I inquired.

"The key word words there are _talking to,_" he explained. "She speaks English. I want someone who only speaks French."

I was dumbfounded. I knew we both spoke French, but neither of us was exactly fluent. We could get by. "How can you develop a relationship with someone you can't communicate with?"

"That's just it," he stated. "I don't want a relationship. I just want a warm body and willing lips."

As the day progressed into night, I was aggravated with myself. I'd spent way too much time thinking about Edward. I thought it was sad that he just wanted a French girl with willing lips and no emotional ties. Although I had to admit that my stomach knotted up everytime I thought about those willing lips.

Still, his attitude seemed incredibly cold. But was what he wanted that much different than what I wanted? I wanted a French guy, someone to romance me. But I did expect to care for him, and to love him a little. I knew that without some semblance of love, there would be no real romance.

This French guy would be my first real love. As sad as it was, and in spite of all the time I has given him, Jacob didn't count. It hurt to admit that, but it was also liberating because I could admit that what I had with Jacob wasn't love. So maybe I deserved the half-priced box of Valentine candy.

No. Even if you only liked someone, you didn't skimp on treating them special.

With Jacob, I had just wanted to have someone to go steady with. I was in love with the idea of being in love.

Just like now. I was in love with the idea of being in love with a French guy.

Now Edward, damn his hide, was making me doubt my goal for the year. I was _not_ going to be using a French guy. We'd be friends, have fun…and then I'd leave.

I was standing on a bridge, gazing at Sleeping Beauty's Castle, or as it was known in Paris, _Château de la Belle au Bois Dormant._

"_Excuse-moi?"_ a deep voice echoed near me.

I glanced over my shoulder. A tall guy with blonde hair smiled at me. "Remember me?" he asked. "Paul. We have history together."

I smiled at him. "I remember."

I'd spotted him on and off all day. Every time I saw him, he was watching me; then he'd look away as if embarrassed. I figured he was a little shy.

"I thought you were with the other American," he explained.

"Edward?" I asked.

He nodded.

"No, we're just friends," I assured him.

"I am so glad to hear that. I was hoping we could go out next Saturday," he informed me.

My first real invitation from a French guy! I couldn't wait to tell Edward. _Whoa!_ I didn't need to be thinking about Edward at a moment like this. I smiled brightly. "I'd love to go out."

"_Bon_," he added in a low voice, and took my hand and stepped closer to me.

With a glorious burst of color and deafening crack, the fireworks began filling the night sky. Paul put his arm around my waist and drew me closer to him as the crowd closed in for a better look.

I wanted to find Alice, to let her know that I had a successful day after all. Paul appeared to be very romantic as he watched the fireworks, his gaze drifting to me from time to time as if I was more important than the night sky.

Suddenly I spotted Edward nearby. He wasn't watching the fireworks. He was apparently creating his own. He stood beneath a nearby tree, sucking face with a long blonde-haired girl.

I turned away, staring unseeing at the sky, my chest tightening until it ached.

Why did it hurt to know the Edward had found the warm body and willing lips he'd been seeking?

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><p><strong>End Chapter Notes:<strong> So both Edward and Bella found what their looking for. But will it last and will Edward and Bella finally admit to their feelings towards each other? Stay tuned to find out! Next is Edward's POV and possibly-if I'm feeling ambitious- Bella's date! Or a little surprise! ;)

Also on my blog is Bella's bathing suit and Euro Disney outfit! I may even add Edward's if I'm feeling ambitious!

I would also like to personally thank EVERYONE that has added me as a favorite author and/or story. It makes me do the happy dance when I see that email saying that someone has added me! So as the French would say; **_Merci beaucoup_!** (Thank You very much!)


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Date Night

**Note:**

I'm_ sooo_ sorry it took so long to get the next chapter up! Life has just been absolutely CRAZY, and on top of that my computer was down for a week, stupid malware! So... I have three weeks of school left, so I try my absolute hardest to get chapter 15 and 16 up before then, but I can't promise you that. But I **WILL** try! I know that there will most likely be no chapter the week of finals, because that's just a stressful and crazy time to try and do** ANYTHING!  
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><p><strong>Fourteen- Date Night<strong>

_Edward_

Lauren had a mouth that just wouldn't quit—which was exactly what I'd expected of a French girl, oddly though, images of Bella's kiss kept flittering through my mind. And what was worse, I kept seeing her smile, hearing her laugh, listening for the softness of her voice.

I recognized that initially Lauren wasn't taking my mind off everything that I wanted her to, but I figured in time…

We ended the kiss. She used the tip of her finger to rub her lipstick away from the corner of my mouth.

"_Samedi?" _she asked.

Saturday. _"Oui,"_ I responded. We'd already agreed to have a date before she planted that kiss on me. Saturday would be filled with kissing exactly like the ones we had just shared. She certainly wasn't shy. But she did have to catch a ride with friends tonight.

"Au revoir," she purred, wiggling he fingers at me.

"Goodbye," I responded. I watched her stroll away, her hips swaying in invitation. She glanced over her shoulder, and I think she was a little sorry that I hadn't followed her. I couldn't explain why I hadn't. I was catching the bus home, so I had no one waiting for me.

I heard the fireworks burst overhead and glanced toward the castle. And that's when I spotted Bella standing beside some tall, blond guy whose arm circled her waist. She'd obviously found Mr. Romantic.

I watched as the guy leaned down, and kissed her cheek, and then walked away.

I couldn't imagine that Bella found it romantic for a guy to abandon her in the middle of a fireworks display. I didn't even think it was romantic. I thought about heading home. After all, my mission had been accomplished.

But I enjoyed watching the way the fireworks reflected off her hair more than the way it brightened the night sky. Why did she intrigue me so much? She was beautiful, but not beautiful like Lauren. And Bella was totally, completely wrong for me. For one thing, she would definitely be there at the end of the year, back in Forks, dogging my heels, wanting declarations of love.

Heck, she wanted more than declarations of love. She wanted flowers, candy and poetry.

_Romance._ A seven-letter word that I tried to keep out of my vocabulary. But it sure had begun popping up a lot since Bella Swan had walked into sculpting class that first day.

I couldn't deny that I was drawn to her—against everything that was rational and made sense. As if I had no control over my legs, I found myself walking over to her.

I leaned close enough to inhale her honeysuckle scent. "I met with success," I announced.

She didn't take her gaze from the sky. "I noticed you practically ripping each other's clothes off."

She sounded seriously aggravated. Was she jealous? Why did that thought please me so much?

"Just for the record," I began, "Lauren kissed _me._" Then I wondered why I felt the need to explain. It irritated me even more to know that I wanted to know about the guy who had kissed her on the cheek. "So, how did your day go?"

She turned to me then and smiled brightly. "Great! I've got a date for next Saturday."

"Congratulations," I said, but my voice didn't sound enthusiastic as it should. And my chest felt hallow. "Was that your romantic guy who just walked off?"

"Yes. He had to head home."

A burst of fireworks filled the air. Someone bumped into me, and I bumped into Bella. My arms went around her, my hands grabbing the railing of the bridge. "Sorry, I'm kinda wedged in," I explained.

"That's okay," she said softly. "It's almost over."

She glanced back toward the sky. I figured since she didn't mind, I might as well enjoy her nearness.

I edged a little closer to get away from someone's elbow. The top of Bella's head came right below my chin. Her back was against my chest. And I liked having her close.

What I found really strange was that I enjoyed just standing here with her more than I enjoyed kissing Lauren. That made no sense. From a guy's perspective, kissing a girl should always rank higher than just standing beside one.

I heard Bella sigh in wonder as the final burst of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, and magenta fireworks touched the sky. I smiled simply because I knew she'd enjoyed the sight so much.

People started heading for the exits, but it was a while before I could move back enough to give her room to move away. When she turned, I was surprised to see a sheen of tear in her eyes. She released a self-conscious laugh.

"I'm a sap when it comes to fireworks," she explained.

Why wasn't I surprised? I just smiled. She had such an endearing way about her, wanted romance so badly. I wished the guy who had originally been standing with her on the bridge had stayed until the end. I was a pinch hitter who really didn't want to play the game of romance. No matter what I thought I was feeling.

~/ /YB\ \~

I'd never known seven days could be an eternity. But that week passed so slowly as I anticipated my date with Lauren.

Now, at long last, I was on my dream date with her. She was blond, tall, and extremely beautiful.

I'd even put aside my usual cartoon-and-movie attire. I was wearing khaki Dockers and a light blue button-up shirt. I'd forgone the use of a tie. If it were Bella sitting across from me, I probably would have pulled out my Disney villain tie, which I only wore for special occasions.

But, Lauren wasn't Bella.

And that was good. I kept telling myself that was good as the maître d' led us to a table by the window. I'd brought Lauren to La Tour d'Argent. The Silver Tower. It was one of the most luxurious and expensive restaurants in Paris. I figured if I wasn't going to offer the girl love, I could at least treat her to a decent meal and a good time.

And money wasn't a problem. I suspected because of the guilt they harbored at sending me away, my parents had been very generous with spending money. "So you can have a year you'll never forget," they'd told me. But I figured they really wanted it to help me forget what was happening on the other side of the ocean.

Besides, I figured there was a chance Bella's date might bring her here. Mr. Romance. Where better?

And I would be able to see for myself that she was having a good time.

I shoved that thought aside. Tonight wasn't about Bella. It was about me and Lauren, and willing lips.

Lauren wore a slinky blue dress that hugged her body like a second skin, I should have been drooling over her, but instead I kept thinking about a simple black dress that held my attention one night. I kept thinking about Bella.

My thoughts were insane.

Lauren smiled. Man, she had a beautiful smile.

"Goofy!" she squealed, and laughed.

Nodding, I smiled back. Her English was limited to three words: Mickey Mouse and Goofy repeated in an adorable accent,

We'd discussed Mickey pretty much all the way to the restaurant. While waiting for our table, we'd begun the discussion of Goofy. It appeared she was ready to continue the discussion.

My knowledge of French wasn't so lame that I couldn't carry on a conversation with Lauren. After all, I'd managed to communicate that I wanted to take her out and understood that she was interested in me.

But as the evening progressed, I realized that she laughed at _everything_ I said in English. She didn't understand a word! She laughed when I spoke in French as well.

As the waiter brought our desserts, I realized that I hadn't thought about my parents' divorce or about Tanya in about… five minutes. And I had never expected to be so bored.

I had stupidly thought I would welcome the absence of conversation… Instead, I found myself looking forward to the end of the evening.

I knew that my feelings weren't fair to Lauren.

But I couldn't tell if she was smart or interesting. She was pretty and sweet. But she wasn't _the_ girl I wanted.

Okay, I had to admit that I had learned a valuable lesson. I needed a French girl who could speak a _little_ English.

* * *

><p><strong>End Chapter Notes:<strong>

_Soo. . . You think Edward is FINALLY coming to his senses? You think they will finally realize that their exactly what their looking for? Haha! You'll find out soon enough! Chapter 15 and 16 are going to be quite juicy! _

_So if you're REALLY enjoying this story, then let me know! Hit that Review button and tell me what you think!  
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_Peace out!  
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	15. Chapter Fifteen All That Matters

**Okay, so here's the LONG awaited chapter fifteen, and surprise! The rest of the story! Yes, I have been very busy writing! I felt that I owed all of my wonderful readers the rest of the story since I kinda dragged it out on writing it. Also keep an eye out for my next story: _Summer Love_. I'll post a summary on chapter 21!  
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**Hope you all enjoy!  
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><p><strong>Fifteen- All That Matters<strong>

_Bella_

_R-O-M-A-N-C-E._

I considered tattooing those letters across my forehead. Maybe then one of these guys would get the message.

I wouldn't classify my date with Michael as awful. I was fairly certain that he was a wonderful conversationalist, but he spoke so little English, that I couldn't be sure.

As we walked along the street toward my house, he kept pulling me close and telling me to listen to the language of the body. Unfortunately for him, my body was translating loud and clear— this guy was _not_ the man of my dreams.

He'd taken me to see a French film that contained no subtitles—and why should it? I was in Paris for crying out loud! But I just couldn't connect to the movie, so I sat there the whole time wondering how Edward's date was going. It was so totally uncool to be sitting in a darkened theater with one guy and to be thinking of another.

And then Michael had pulled a Jacob. Maybe it was even worse than Jacob. He'd taken me to a McDonald's for dinner! Not that I don't normally like McDonald's, but in Paris? With a guy who I'm hoping is Mr. Romance?

The twin yellow arches just don't set the mood that I wanted. I was more than ready for this date to end as I walked up the steps to my house.

I turned to face Michael.

"_Merci,"_ I said softly. "_Le soir—_the evening was wonderful."

He pulled me into his arms and planted his mouth on mine. As if he intended to lay down roots. My first kiss from a French guy. I had expected to be swept off my feet. Instead, my mind wondered to Edward, and I wondered if Edward had kissed his date goodnight.

I knew a person's mind really shouldn't wonder during a romantic kiss. It sort of defeated the purpose.

Michael slipped his hands beneath the hem of my shirt, and I felt his palms on my bare waist. I grabbed his wrist and jerked back.

"_Non, non, non."_

I laughed, trying to make light of the uncomfortable situation. I'm not a prude, but I didn't expect a guy to touch me intimately until I was ready for intimacy. And it took a lot more than movies and fries to achieve that goal. It took hearts as one and souls calling out to souls.

Michael drew me back against him and whispered in my ears, "You are not listening to the language of the body."

I squirmed, trying to extricate myself from a place I definitely did not want to be. Panic began to settle in, I figured if he wouldn't get the message, I could scream. My host family was home and be certainly hear me.

Suddenly Michael staggered backwards, and I saw Edward standing there. His hand was gripping Michael's shoulder, and I realized he'd pulled him back.

"She said no, and no in English or French is no," Edward declared in a tight voice.

I had this flash of a notion— I knew how a damsels in distress had felt when the knight in shining armor saved them from the dragons.

"Americans!" Michael spat as he jerked free from Edward's hold and walked away in a huff.

I looked at Edward. Maybe his armor was a bit tarnished, but I was still appreciative that he'd stepped in when he did.

"Thanks."

He shrugged. "You okay?"

"Yes. I don't think he meant and harm. He was just a tad more enthusiastic than I wanted him to be."

I furrowed my eyebrow. "What are you doing here, anyways?"

"I was just walking home after my date with Lauren," he explained.

Ah, yes, Lauren. I couldn't imagine her saying no to a kiss from Edward. I was taken aback by the jealous pang that hit me, and I was determined to ignore it. Or at least make Edward think that I didn't care. I forced myself to ask lightly, "So, how did it go?"

"It went great." A corner of his mouth lifted, and he shook his head. "It was awful."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said, although I felt like jumping for joy. What was _wrong_ with me?

"What happened?"

He shoved his hands into his pockets.

"The only English word she kept repeating was _Goofy._ About halfway through the meal, I realized she thought my name was Goofy."

I couldn't help myself. I burst out laughing—not so much because I thought it was funny, but because I was incredibly relieved.

"You're kidding me, right?"

"I wish. She was sweet, but I don't think she was the brightest light bulb. Hard to tell, though, since she didn't speak English and my French was only passable," he explained.

_Passable enough to get a date, _I thought. _But not enough to date._ I thought about Michael's suggestion to listen to the language of the body. I was incredibly glad Edward hadn't known about that advice.

I must have thought about him a hundred times while I was on my date—and that was so unfair to Michael. How could any evening hold the magic of romance if I was thinking about another guy?

Edward jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. "Hey, just so this evening isn't a total waste, you want to grab something to eat? There's a late night pastry shop around the corner."

The offer was tempting, and not just because of my love for chocolate. Edward looked amazing. He was wearing khaki pants and a light blue shirt beneath a brown leather jacket. I wouldn't have been surprised if he pulled out a tie from one of his pockets. It looked like he'd put as much thought into getting ready for his date as he I had put into mine.

Yet, we'd both had a bummer evening.

I put my hand on my stomach. "Yeah, I think these McDonald's fries could use some company."

His mouth dropped open. "Tell me that your date did _not_ take you to McDonald's."

I grimaced. "Afraid so."

He took my hand. It seemed so natural that I wasn't even sure he realized he had done it.

"I always figured the French were romantic," he murmured as we began walking along the dimly lit street.

"Me too. I had visions of flowers, candlelight, and poetry; French words whispered into my ear," I confessed.

He glanced over at me. A corner of his mouth lifted. "Maybe you expect too much."

I shook my head. "But this is the city of romance, Edward. I'll only be here for a year. I have to pack enough romance into this year to last me a lifetime."

"Don't you think any of the guys in Forks know anything about romance?" he asked thoughtfully.

I raised an eyebrow. "Honestly? No. At least not the kind of romance that I want. I want to _feel_ like the guy can't live without me, that I'm the center of his universe."

"Sounds like you're looking for some serious love," he mused.

"All I want is romance," I assured him.

Serious love would mean heartache at the end of the year, and I definitely did not want that.

"Do you honestly think you can have one without the other?" he asked.

"Sure," I replied confidently, although I really was no longer certain. Was that where things were going wrong? I thought I could have romance without a long-term commitment.

We stopped walking, and Edward shoved open the door to a bakery. The aroma of freshly baked bread and pastries teased my nostrils. He waited for me to walk in first, and then he followed me to the counter. I looked through the glass at the assortment of pastries.

"Any one of these is going to go a long way toward helping me to forget about my quest for romance," I admitted.

I ordered a chocolate-coated éclair while Edward ordered _chausson__ aux pommes,_ a pastry filled with apples. We also both go large milks to drink.

At the cash register I reached for my purse, but Edward held his hand out to stop me.

"My treat," Edward announced, without looking at me. I watched him dig the Francs out of his wallet.

I considered arguing, but I didn't want to chance ruining the rapport we'd established. Besides, how many people in Paris could understand why I was searching so badly for romance? Alice didn't understand because she could not comprehend how totally unromantic the guys were in Forks.

Edward knew the guys. He knew that in Forks I would never find the romance that I craved for. It was just inconceivable.

We settled into a corner booth. Beside us the large window looked out on the street. It was after ten o'clock, but lovers strolled by, arm in arm. I could tell some were whispering, probably words of love.

With a sigh I took my fork and cut off a bit of éclair. I closed my mouth around the rich filling, the creamy chocolate, and the flaky pastry.

I moaned softly. "This definitely hits the spot."

Edward chuckled. I watched as he dug into his pastry.

"I can't resist the lure of bakeries," he confessed.

"We have a bakery in Forks," I chided.

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Donuts 2B8 is not a bakery."

He was so right! Three varieties of doughnuts hardly compares with the delicious éclair that was now making my mouth water.

"I'll probably go home a hundred pounds heavier," he murmured.

"Not the way that you ride your bike," I teased.

He smiled. "True."

His gaze held mine, and it occurred to me that I knew more about Edward Cullen than I knew about any other guy in existence—certainly more than I knew about Jacob. I knew Edward's dreams: to cycle in the Tour de France, and to work for Pixar. I knew all the self-doubts he was experiencing over his parents' divorce. I relished the sound of his laughter and loved that crooked, lopsided grin.

Loved? How could I love anything even remotely related to a guy from Forks?

I quickly dropped my gaze to his plate. And there were those amazing hands of his resting on either side of it. Originally, hands weren't on my guy score sheet, but after watching him day after day in sculpting class shaping the clay… Well, I'd had to add it to my list of things about a guy to consider.

And I'd given him a three.

"You can have some if you want," he offered quietly.

I jerked my eyes back to his. "What?"

"You're staring at my pastry. Thought you might want to give it a try," he explained.

"S-sure," I stammered, or would have if I'd had to say more than one word.

I watched him jab his fork into a piece of the pastry that he'd already worked free. Holding the fork, he carried the fork to my mouth.

Sharing our food seemed so incredibly… intimate.

My stomach knotted up, and I wasn't certain how I was going to be able to swallow. My heart was pounding as I closed my mouth around the fork.

He slid the fork out of my mouth and grinned. "Well?"

The apple-filled pastry was _delicious_!

"Yummy! Want to try the éclair?"

"Yeah, I would. I'm a sucker for chocolate, but apples are healthier."

I laughed. "Right. And I eat carrot cake for the vegetables," I teased.

"Really? Me too!"

We both laughed, and it was such a memorable moment. I'd never laughed with a guy. It was like a meeting of two souls or something.

I cut off a piece of éclair, poked it with my fork, and extended it towards him. He hesitated, and I wondered if he suddenly realized— as I had earlier—how personal it was to share food. I watched him take my fork, pop the éclair in his mouth, chew and swallow, then hand me my fork back.

"That's good," he agreed.

I was actually _enjoying_ the evening. The disaster of my earlier date was a fading memory. But I was spending _way_ too much time thinking of Edward in a romantic context. I needed to bring us both back to earth.

"Did you ever call your dad?" I asked.

All the sparkle went out of his eyes, and he shoved his pastry aside. "No."

I wished I'd kept my mouth shut. I hated seeing him looking so incredibly miserable.

I glanced at my watch. _Midnight. _I set my éclair aside.

"Why don't you call your dad now?" I suggested. "I saw a pay phone around the corner, and it's only five in the morning in Forks."

He shook his head. "I can't, Bella. I've thought about calling him a hundred times this week, but it just makes the divorce too real, and I guess I'm not ready to face it."

I reached across the table and wrapped my hands around his balled fists. I could feel so much tension in him.

"You know, Edward, it's already very real for your dad."

"Are you saying it's my fault?" he demanded.

"No," I replied softly. "I just remember when my dad moved out that I was afraid he'd stop loving me because he didn't live with me anymore. Later my dad told me that he had been afraid _I'd_ stop loving him. If you don't call your dad, he might think that you don't love him anymore."

"I hadn't thought of it like that," he said quietly.

"He's probably just as scared as you are," I continued.

"I don't see how the hell he could be," he snapped. "After all, it's _my_ world falling apart."

Edward looked like I'd just dumped a bucket of cold water on him.

"You know, Bella, I hadn't really thought about what he must be feeling." He moved one of his hands out from beneath mine and combed his fingers through his hair, making it stand up all over. "I've been selfish."

I squeezed his hand. "You've been confused—and that's natural," I assured him.

"My dad's alone, just like me," he pointed out.

I jerked upright and I felt as though I'd been kicked in the stomach. "And what am I? A figment of your imagination?"

His face broke into a warm grin. "No, you're a very special girl."

He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and dug out a scrap of paper. Then he met my gaze.

"How do I say I want to make a collect call?"

"Let me look in my trusty pocket-sized English-French dictionary." I pulled it out of my purse, riffled through the pages, then smiled triumphantly as I found the expression.

"_Je voudrais faire une communication avec PCV." _ I looked at Edward. "You need anything else?"

"You," he answered quietly.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I was certain that all the blood had drained from my face.

"Will you stay with me while I call him?" he pleaded.

I nodded, surprised by the warmth that flowed through me because he wanted me. My heartbeat returned to normal, but I knew that I'd never forget the way he looked at me after I nodded; Like I placed the stars in the sky.

The pay phone was anchored to a wall, not a closed in booth. Fortunately the street was quiet this time of night. I watched Edward drop some coins into the slot. I heard him mumble in French. Then he gave a deep sigh.

"The phone's ringing," he murmured in a shaky voice.

I moved closer and rubbed his back. He was so incredibly tense.

He glanced at me, and I could see the apprehension in his eyes. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I was on the verge of telling him to hang up when he said, "Dad?"

I felt the tension between his shoulders increase. Then he released a strangled laugh. "Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to talk to you."

He turned slightly, and his voice became muffled, so I couldn't hear what he was saying to his dad.

I continued to rub his back. And little by little, I could feel the tension easing away.

I heard thunder. A raindrop plopped on my nose. I glanced up, and even though it was night, the sky looked darker than it should.

Another drop.

Lightning zigzagged across the sky and thunder rumbled. Then a gush of water drenched me unexpectedly, and I shrieked as the rain began to fall harder and harder.

Edward turned around. He was grinning broadly.

"I gotta go, Dad," he said. "Me too."

He hung up and took his jacket off, then draped it over my head.

Laughing, he ordered, "Come on. Let's get you home."

I couldn't believe how quickly it had started to pour. I mean, it rains in Forks, but it rarely _pours_ there.

We quickly rushed down the street, our pounding feet causing the water to splash our legs. Just as suddenly the rain started, it let up slightly, but continued to fall.

We reached my house, and I hurried up the steps. I turned to face Edward.

His hair was plastered to his head, drops of rain were rolling down his face, and his clothes were soaked. Not that I was in much better condition.

"A lot of good my jacket did," he announced.

"It's the thought that counts," I admitted. He'd at least tried to shelter me.

As the rain continued to bounce off him, I couldn't believe how thoughtful he was.

"Thanks, Bella," he said quietly. "Thanks for talking me into calling my dad. He was really glad to hear from me. He thought I was angry with him. Maybe I was, a little. I'm not so much now."

"I've been there, Edward," I explained. "It's hard, but you'll make it through this divorce thing okay. Trust me."

"I do," he said solemnly. His gaze darkened as it held mine. He dropped his jacket to my shoulders so he no longer had to hold it.

The rain began to patter gently against my cheeks.

Edward cradled my face between his hands, and tilted my face up slightly, then lowered his mouth to mine.

The night air was cool, the rain cold, and his mouth so warm. I stepped closer to him and twined my arms around his neck.

He deepened the kiss in that slow, unhurried way of his. My body grew so incredibly warm that the rain no longer mattered.

All that mattered was Edward.

~/ / YA\ \~

_Edward_

Bella was incredible. She was so giving.

I felt like she was pouring her soul out into our kiss, pouring herself into me.

All the loneliness I had been feeling was melting away like a chocolate bar left out in the hot summer sun.

Yet, this was all so totally wrong.

I knew what I had to do. End the kiss now before she got the wrong impression. Before she realized that she was _all_ I could think about.

Our lips parted, but my will was weak. I kissed one corner of her mouth, then the other. Then the tip of her nose, where all her cute freckles were.

Then I drew back and met her stunned gaze. Her mouth was still open slightly, and I was tempted to again to cover it with mine. Instead I forced myself to back up a step.

"Sorry," I muttered.

"Sorry?" she repeated, clearly dazed.

"Don't read anything into the kiss, Bella. It was just another one of those artistic moments…." My voice trailed off. I couldn't complete the lie.

"Artistic moment?" she reiterated.

"Yeah, you know. Like on the hilltop. Only this was night. Rain. I could see the canvas, and it was just begging for a couple kissing."

I usually wasn't a babbler. I just didn't want to hurt Bella. If she knew how much I was coming to care for her, she might feel the need to reciprocate. I didn't want her to put aside her dream of being with Mr. Romance this year.

But I also didn't want her to think that I was taking advantage—kissing her when I really had no right.

She nodded briskly. "I see."

She removed my jacket from around her shoulders and extended it towards me.

"Thanks for sheltering me from the storm."

She sounded so formal. I was really afraid I'd hurt her. I could only hope it was a small hurt, something that would go away quickly. If I told her what I really felt, I could risk taking away her dream. That thought sounded so egotistical, like she would set her dream aside for me.

Maybe it was me that I was afraid would get hurt. Bella had never hinted that I meant anything more than a friend—unless I counted that kiss. It had gone way beyond friendship.

Yet she'd made it perfectly clear what she wanted this year in Paris—a guy willing to fulfill her romantic expectations. Other than "Roses Are Red," I didn't know any poetry to recite. Knowing Bella, she was looking for a Shakespearean sonnet.

I took the drenched jacket. It really hadn't done a lot of good. She looked like a drowned kitten. An adorable drowned kitten that is.

Man, did I want to kiss her again!

I backed up another step. The rain was still falling, but softly now.

"See you at school," I announced.

"Yeah," she replied, sounding somewhat sad. "See you at school."

"About that kiss—"

She held up a hand to stop me from saying anything else. "I know. It meant nothing."

Turning, she opened the door, and I watched her disappear into the house.

_No,_ I thought with a sigh, _that kiss meant everything._

* * *

><p><strong>End Of Chapter Notes:<strong>_  
>Oh! I think Bella and Edward are <strong>finally<strong> coming to their senses, and realizing their feelings for one another. Wonder what Edward will do next! Hint their IS a date involved, but that's ALL I'm revealing! :P  
><em>

_Now please, hit that review button!  
><em>


	16. Chapter Sixteen What I Really Want

**Sixteen-What I Really Want**

_Bella_

On Monday afternoon I sat on the bed in my room, my legs folded beneath me. In the center of the bed was a flat package. Gift wrapped. The bow on top was crumpled. Like a cotton shirt that needed to be ironed. It looked like someone had used the bow over and over.

That someone was Edward.

I wondered if he'd wrapped the gift, changed his mind, unwrapped it, then changed his mind again, then re-wrapped it back up.

I'd been so nervous about seeing him in our first class this morning. After that earth-shattering kiss that had meant absolutely nothing to him…I had seriously considered changing all my art classes. I just didn't know how I could face him again.

The moment I saw him in the hall, right before our first class, my heart sped up. Then he spotted me, and I had difficulty breathing. My lips tingled as if they remembered that kiss we'd shared in the rain. A kiss I knew I'd never forget if I lived to be a hundred.

It had been the most romantic moment of my life. Standing there, with the rain falling on us, the warmth of our embrace, the heat of our mouths.

I stood in the hallway like a deer caught in headlights as Edward walked toward me. A corner of his mouth lifted but his crooked, lopsided grin looked sad.

"How are you doing?" he asked once he got close enough that he wouldn't have to shout.

I took a deep breath and lifted my gaze from that incredible mouth of his to his soulful green eyes.

"Great. I woke up this morning knowing that Mr. Romance was going to walk into my life today."

"I really hope he does, Bella. You deserve your dreams." He extended a flat package toward me.

"Open this at home."

"What is it?" I asked.

His grin grew. "If I wanted you to know right away, I wouldn't have wrapped it."

"Why can't I open it now?" I insisted.

"Because I asked you not to."

And that was that. The gift haunted me all day. I figured it was a silk scarf because the box was so flat. Although I couldn't imagine why he'd give me a fashion accessory. Actually, I couldn't determine why he'd give me anything at all.

But here I was, staring at the thin box, wondering if I really wanted to break the spell it had cast over me. As long as I had the package, my thoughts drifted to Edward.

Who was I kidding? With or without the package, I'd be thinking about Edward.

I reached for the bow, carefully removing the bow; I peeled back the wrapping paper, and lifted the lid.

I froze. My breath backed up in my lungs. I couldn't believe it.

I was looking at a sketch. A sketch of me, standing on a bridge with Sleeping Beauty's Castle in the background. Fireworks filled the sky over my head. But it was my image that held me captive.

I've always considered myself as plain, but I've never thought I was ugly either. But in this sketch, I looked…beautiful. Incredibly happy. _Magical._

I stared in stunned disbelief at the signature scrawled in the corner.

_Edward Cullen  
>September 2004<em>

Edward had drawn this? I'd never been more confused in my life. His attention to detail was amazing. He even drew the few freckles I have on my nose. Why hadn't he turned in his sketch of the Eiffel Tower that he'd created that day on the hilltop? It certainly wasn't because my drawing had intimidated him. He was far more talented than I was.

I lifted the sketch from the box, and beneath was a scrawled note that read; _Thanks for Saturday night._

_What did that mean?_ Was he thanking me for:

Going to the bakery with him?

Talking him into calling his dad?

Staying with him while he talked with his dad?

Kissing him as if I had a serious crush on him?

I shook my head. I could hear Regis asking if that was my final answer. Without a doubt. My presence didn't seem to mean much to Edward whether it was at a bakery or a pay phone. And as for the kiss… I didn't want to think about how much it hurt that it meant nothing.

Reaching across my bed, I grabbed the phone off the nightstand. With a deep breath, I dialed Edward's number. His host mom answered and promptly went to fetch him.

"Hello?" His voice was so deep.

"Edward, it Bella." I announced.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and I could hear the concern in his voice.

"Nothing," I reassured him as I glanced at the sketch. "I just…I just opened your gift. It's wonderful."

"It's no big deal. Since the rain from Saturday continued into Sunday, I couldn't cycle, so it was something to do," he explained.

_Something to do?_ With the details, it must have taken hours.

"I plan to have it framed once I get home. It'll be a great souvenir." I didn't know how to tell him exactly how touched I was by his gesture. I might even send it to my mom so she could see how I was adjusting to life in Paris.

"I'm glad you like it. Listen, there's someone here who wants to talk to you. I'll see you at school."

With that, he was gone.

"Bella?" a deeper voice asked with an incredible French accent. "It's Michael."

Edward's host brother. "Hey, Michael."

"I was wondering if you'd like to go out Saturday night?" I heard him grunt. "With me. Go out with me. On a date. A romantic date."

He seemed so nervous that it was actually cute.

"I'd love to."

"She'd love to," I heard him whisper. Edward mumbled something.

"Wonderful," Michael muttered. "I shall count the hours."

After I hung up, I sat there, staring at the sketch.

Disappointment slammed into me, I had felt such an incredible bond with Edward on Saturday night, that I had hoped he might ask me out. I had sorta hoped the sketch was—a prelude to a date.

Sure, he wasn't French, but I was suddenly beginning to realize that where a person was from wasn't as important as the person.

~/ /YB\ \~

_Private Internet Chat Room_

_**Bella:**__ Well, guys, I have a date with a Frenchie. A really nice one at that, who is totally hot._

_**Angela **__How did that come about?_

_**Bella: **__Edward. He set me up with his host brother. _

_**Rosalie:: **__Edward again? You can't seem to get rid of that guy._

The problem was, I realized that I didn't want to.

_**Bella: **__Enough about me. What's happening with y'all?  
>Angela, did you get things worked out with Ben?<em>

_**Angela: **__No, it's such a mess. I've really fallen hard for the guy, and he cares about me. But that will end the minute I tell him I'm an American. :(_

_**Rosalie:**__ You might be surprised. I finally revealed my true self to Emmett._

_**Bella: **__And?_

_**Rosalie: **__ :)_

_**Bella: **__What does that smile mean?_

_**Rosalie: **__He's not only my host brother . . . he's now my boyfriend!_

_**Angela: **__Way to go, Rosalie!_

_**Bella: **__I knew that would happen once you stopped trying to hide your true self._

I was so totally happy for Rose. If only Angela could resolve the situation with Ben… and if only I could figure out what it was I really wanted this year while I was in Paris.


	17. Chapter Seventeen Romantic Date

**Seventeen-Romantic Date**

_Bella_

Late Saturday morning, I was in the kitchen with Madame Hale-Trouvel, Alice, and Geneviève. We were preparing lunch in their small kitchen, and Madame Hale-Trouvel was teaching me how to fix crêpes, which are like pancakes—and are delicious. I figured by the time my year in Paris was over, I would be a gourmet chef. I was already planning on cooking one meal for my family.

Like just about everything in France, cooking was an art. I loved watching my host mother move fluidly through the kitchen, with her dark hair and blue eyes, she reminded me of a graceful dancer.

The doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Alice said, and headed out.

With a wide spatula I gently lifted the crêpe off the pan and placed it on my plate. I leaned low and sniffed.

"That smells _sooooo_ good!"

"You are a natural, Bella," Madame Hale-Trouvel stated.

I felt myself blush. "_Merci,_ but you did most of the work. I just sorta followed along and did whatever you told me to do."

She laughed. "That is more than my daughters can often do."

"Oh, Maman," Geneviève whined. "That's not true."

Madame Hale-Trouvel leaned down and kissed Geneviève's cheek. "Sometimes, _ma chère."_

Alice came back into the kitchen, and she was holding a _huge_ crystal vase filled with a dozen red roses and an assortment of tiny white flowers—baby's breath.

"Wow!" I enthused. "Those are beautiful."

Alice smiled brightly. "They're for you."

I felt like someone had knocked the breath out of my lungs.

"For me?"

"_Oui." _She set them on the counter, removed the card, and handed it to me.

My hand was actually shaking as I opened the card. It simply said, _Jusqu'à ce soir._ Until this evening.

I pressed my palm to my rapidly beating heart.

_Oh, be still, my fluttering heart._

I felt tears burn my eyes.

"No one has ever sent me flowers before," I told them. And these were no leftovers with wilted petals. They were just buds waiting to open up and blossom.

"No one has ever sent me flowers either," Alice said.

Dumbfounded, I stared at her. "Surely Jasper has sent you flowers?"

She shrugged casually. _"Non."_

"He's given you boxes of chocolate though, right?" I inquired.

She gave her head a quick shake. _"Non."_

I felt like I was in the middle of some kind of bad joke.

"He recites poetry to you."

Laughter bubbled out of her then. "Jasper? Poetry? _Non. Non. Non. _He would never read a poem to me._"_

My legs felt weak. I dropped down on a stool at the counter.

"I don't understand. You said he was romantic."

"He is. _Très _romantic," she reassured me.

"I'm completely lost here," I confessed. "How can he be romantic when he doesn't do anything special for you?"

She looked taken aback. "What are you talking about? He is romantic because he knows me. He knows when I am sad without me telling him, and he tries to make me happy. When I am with him, ,e smile is bigger and my joy is greater. With him, I am complete."

"But he must do something?" I prodded. "Something special."

Alice shook her head. "He is just who he is. The one I _love."_

~/ /YB\ \~

By early evening, as I began to get ready for my date, I was still swirling Alice's startling declarations about Jasper through my mind.

I felt sort of betrayed. She'd repeatedly told me that Jasper was romantic. . . and now she'd revealed that he didn't do romantic things. No flowers, no candy, and no poetry.

In essence, he was simply. . ._there._

I thought about the times I'd seen them together. Jasper always stayed close to Alice, holding her hand or putting an arm around her. At the dance club he'd danced every dance with her. They'd laughed and talked. . .and kissed.

They looked so. . . well, in love.

She had told me repeatedly that Jasper was a romantic guy, and yet in my opinion, he didn't do romantic things.

I was _so_ confused.

I glanced at the beautiful bouquet of flowers that Michael had sent me. Their fragrance filled my bedroom as I got dressed for my date. As I applied my makeup, my gaze kept darting between my face, the flowers, and Edward's sketch. Flowers were definitely romantic. A sketch? In the annals of romantic history, sketches were probably only a footnote.

But I found that my gaze lingered on it more than it did the flowers. Not because it was a portrait of me, but because the lines had been so meticulously drawn.

Michael arrived exactly five minutes early. Not early enough to interfere with my getting ready, but early enough to hint that he was anxious for this date. I thought of that old joke about the guy always waiting for the girl to get ready. With Jacob, I'd been the one always waiting for him to arrive. Yet, here was Michael, early enough to make me feel special.

And ohmygod! Did he look hot! His light brown hair was kind of long, but it was combed back off his brow. He wore a black blazer over a lilac button down shirt.

In Forks a guy would die before wearing a pastel shade. White was pretty much standard for any shirt that buttoned. I thought of the blue shirt Edward had worn, but then, he wasn't really typical Forks.

I turned my attention back to Michael and his dancing blue eyes. He wore black slacks and had a killer smile. Nice and symmetrical, both sides curling up evenly. So far, he was scoring perfect threes across the chart.

"Ready?" he asked in a husky voice.

"Wow," I whispered when I got a good look at his car. I felt like Cinderella stepping into the pumpkin turned coach as I climbed into his black Mercedes.

"I borrowed my parent's car," he explained as he started the engine.

And we were on our way to what had already begun as the most romantic evening in my life.

The restaurant— Le Tour d'Argent—was the ultimate in luxury. Michael had somehow managed to get us tables by the window, and we had a gorgeous, panoramic view. It was so romantic that it took my breath away.

The food was incredibly expensive. It should have made me feel special, but instead, it made me feel a little guilty. Michael was going out of his way to impress me, and all I could do. . . was think about Edward.

I felt like I was in a library. Everyone spoke in hushed whispers. The ambiance was something I'd never find in Forks.

In the center of our table a tall, tapered candle flickered. At its base was a circle or orchids. We were even drinking wine.

Well, Michael drank wine. I'd taken one sip and decided to go with hot tea.

"Any idea what Edward is doing tonight?" I asked.

"He took off cycling just before I left," Michael explained.

"He really cycles a lot," I murmured.

"Every morning and most evenings," Michael concurred.

"Do you cycle?" I asked.

"_Oui._ I can barely keep up with Edward, though," he confessed.

"He is amazing," I enthused.

He leaned forward, his blue eyes darkening. "You think so?"

"Absolutely."

Michael leaned back. "Do you like the restaurant?"

I nodded enthusiastically. "It's gorgeous."

A corner of his mouth quirked up. "Edward thought you would like it."

"He did?"

"_Oui._ He thought it would be a romantic place, and he said you like romance," Michael explained.

Somehow the restaurant lost some of its romantic edge. Knowing Michael had brought me here at Edward's suggestion made it seem less special. Maybe I was selfish, but I wanted my date to take me someplace that he thought I'd like. That was so unfair to Michael, who was paying a fortune for our meal.

I touched his hand. "I also wanted to thank you for the flowers."

He blinked, looking somewhat dumbfounded. "The flowers?"

"The roses you sent me this afternoon," I reminded him.

"Ah." He nodded thoughtfully. "The roses. Of course. I forgot about them. They were nothing."

"Hardly nothing," I told him. "They were lovely."

"I am glad you were pleased."

I tapped my fingers on the table. We'd discussed the restaurant, the flowers, cycling. . . This was the most romantic night of my life. Alice's words kept swirling through my mind.

And as nice as Michael was, as attentive as he was, I couldn't help but wonder what Edward was doing this evening. Who had he gone a date with?

~ / /YB\ \~

I stood outside the door to Alice's house.

"I had a wonderful time, Michael," I told him.

And I had. Or at least I should have. He'd done everything right. Everything romantic.

"I'm glad," he whispered just before he leaned down and kissed me.

It was a sweet kiss. Much better than Jacob's kisses, but not as heavenly as Edward's. It was simply. . .pleasant.

He drew back and gave me a small smile.

"_Bonsoir, _Bella."

Alice pounced on me as soon as the door closed behind me. She'd been sitting on the couch with Jasper, watching a movie.

"So, how did it go?"

"It was probably the most romantic evening I've ever had," I acknowledged. After dinner we'd walked along the Seine, hand in hand.

I turned and started up the stairs, wondering why the most romantic evening of my life had felt so terribly wrong.


	18. Chapter Eighteen I Have A Favor To Ask

**Eighteen-I Have A Favor To Ask You**

_Edward_

Worrying about stuff was starting to get wearisome. In particular, worrying about Bella.

Lying on my bed, I watched her pink cap go around and around as I twirled it on the end of my finger.

Earlier this evening, right after I'd walked past the bathroom and seen Michael shaving for his big date, I'd thrown on my cycling clothes and hit the road.

Fast and hard. I'd taken corners like a maniac, pushed myself up hills and soared down at breakneck speeds. Stupid. Dangerous.

But I was trying to escape the image of them in the fancy restaurant Michael had agreed to take he to—with me splitting half the cost of the meal.

But escape was impossible. I'd returned home exhausted, too tired to hold the images at bay.

I could envision the candlelight flickering over Bella's face, highlighting her hair, and reflecting in her chocolate brown eyes. I could see her sweet smile grow warm as Michael charmed her with French and courtly grace.

As an all-American boy, the image should have made me gag, but I knew how much all those things meant to Bella, and I wanted her to have them. Even if I wasn't the one giving them to her.

I heard footsteps in the hallway. Michael's footsteps. I glanced at my watch. It was only none o'clock. He should have kept her out until midnight.

I bolted off the bed and rushed into the hallway.

Michael stopped dead in his tracks as I advanced on him. "What are you doing home so early?" I demanded.

He shrugged. "The date ended."

"What do you mean, it ended?" I insisted.

"We did all there was to do," he explained.

_By nine o'clock?_ I was baffled and disappointed.

"So, how did it go?"

Michael sighed heavily. "It went well, I think. It would have been smoother if you'd told me that you sent her flowers."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"She thanked me for the flowers, but it took me a minute to figure out what she was talking about," he explained.

"Oh, sorry. It didn't occur to me that you'd discuss the flowers. Guess it should have. How about everything else?"

"I did everything you told me to do. Dinner ar Tour d'Argent, a scroll along the Seine, a kiss goodnight," he murmured.

"I didn't say anything about kissing her!" I retorted.

He quirked a brow. "How can you have romance with no passion?"

_Why do I have the feeling that he's baiting me?_ I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. He was right. Bella would have expected a romantic kiss. I just didn't want to think about Michael kissing Bella—or her kissing him.

"Then she had a good time," I admitted.

Michael shook his head slowly. "I don't think so."

I went completely postal. "What do you mean, you don't think so! Bella wants to date a romantic French guy. You're perfect for her—if you did everything I told you to do. So why didn't she have a good time?"

Michael gave me a sympathetic smile. "Because, _mon frère,_ I'm not the one she loves."

~/ /YB\ \~

I heard a clock downstairs chime midnight as I lay in bed thinking about Bella. Earlier, Michael had explained that I'd been the main topic of conversation during his date with Bella. Bella talked about me so much, that Michael had felt like I was sitting at the table with them.

As much as I cared for Bella, I knew that I was totally wrong for her.

I wasn't French, but more than that, I came from a broken family. And so did she. Neither of us had an example of a lasting relationship to build on.

I'd thought that I did. Sure, my parents argued, sometimes mom cried . . . But they had always managed to work things out. Or so I'd thought.

I remembered Bella telling me how much happier her parents were now. When I'd spoken with my dad, after he'd gotten over the shock of hearing from me, he'd sounded relaxed, more relaxed than I'd ever heard.

I thought about the way it had felt to have Bella rub my back while I talked to my dad, it seemed so natural to have her there.

But no matter how much I cared for her, I knew Michael was wrong. She didn't love me. She couldn't possibly. We haven't been dating, we weren't boyfriend and girlfriend.

She wanted romance, and I was the least romantic guy I knew.

But within my chest, near my heart, there was a little spark of hope. What if I _was_ what she truly wanted?

Much to my surprise, Bella called me the next morning.

"Hey," she said sounding slightly uncomfortable.

"Hey, back," I replied as I stared out the window.

The sun was shining brightly. Michael and I had planned to cycle a hundred miles as soon as we finished breakfast.

"I have a huge favor o ask you," she announced softly.

I could hear the nervousness in her voice. I figured she wanted another date with romantic Michael, and the sooner, the better; only she didn't know how to arrange it.

"So ask," I prompted when she didn't continue.

She cleared her throat. "Um . . . well, I was wondering if you'd mind spending the day with me. Today."

"Spend the day with you?" I repeated, too stunned to say anything else.

She let out a nervous laugh. "This is so awkward. Do you remember Rosalie Hale?"

I blinked. "From Forks?"

"Yes. Well, she's one of my best friends, and she's spending the year as a student in London. Today's she's coming to Paris, and she's bringing Emmett."

"Who's Emmett?" I interrupted.

"He started out as her host brother, but now he's her boyfriend. Anyway, they're going to take the Channel Tunnel rail service. It's only a three hour trip, so they'll be here around ten o'clock. And we'll spend the day sight-seeing."

"And you want me there because…" I let my voice trail off. I wanted her to say that she wanted me there because I meant something to her. After all, I had a life, plans for the day too. You don't just drop everything because some girl who meant nothing to you called. The problem was, though, that Bella _meant_ something to me. Much more than I'd ever expected her to. More than _I_ wanted her to.

"So Emmett won't feel like a third wheel. It's awkward when you have an odd number of people in a group," she explained.

_Not as awkward as realizing that you wanted to be as important to someone as she was to you. _I thought to myself.

"Why didn't you ask Michael?" I inquired.

She gasped. "I couldn't ask him. It's not like this is a date or anything, and I wouldn't want him to get the wrong impression."

My pounding heart settled down. It wasn't a date.

"What impression?" I asked.

"That I cared for him more than I do," she answered.

"Didn't you have a good time last night?" I asked.

She hesitated. "It was really nice. He was really nice and he did a lot of romantic things."

"So you had your Paris romance," I announced, glad I'd given her what she wanted.

She sighed. "Not really."

"What do you mean 'not really'? You said he was romantic," I reminded her.

"No, I said he _did_ romantic things. I can't explain it, Edward. It should have been the most romantic night of my life, but it wasn't… romantic." Her voice trailed off, and not only did she sound disappointed, but she sounded sad.

"How could it not be romantic?" I demanded. "It cost me—" I snapped my mouth shut. She didn't need to know how much I'd spent on her romantic evening.

"What cost you?" she asked.

"Nothing," I replied, annoyed with Michael. But really more annoyed at myself. "I'll spend the day with you."

"It doesn't sound like you want to," I heard the caution in her voice.

"I do. Honestly. Just tell me where and when." I could cycle anytime. Bella was more important.

"Great. We can take the Metro together. I'll drop by your house about ten-thirty."

I hung up and stared at the phone. Girls were completely illogical. She'd admitted that Michael had done romantic things. So how in the world could the night have not been romantic?

Michael's words echoed in my mind. _"Because, mon frère, I'm not the one she loves."_

And I wondered why it was that when either Bella or I needed something, we turned to each other. And more, I wondered why it was that I so quickly changed my plans to accommodate Bella.

And why I always felt glad that I had.

~/ /YB\ \~

_Bella_

_Private Internet Chat Room_

_**Bella: **__Jeez, Angela, I wish you could be here. The day just won't be the same without you.  
><em>_**Angela:**__ I wish I could be there too, but Paris is quite a ways from Rome.  
><em>_**Bella:**__ How are things going with Ben?  
><em>_**Angela:**__ Well, he found out that I'm an American, and basically hates me.  
><em>_**Bella: **__Bummer.  
><em>_**Angela: **__I deserved it. He had this unflattering impression of what American girls were like. I wanted to prove him wrong. Instead, I showed him exactly how right he was. I deceived him, Bella.  
><em>_**Bella:**__ I'm really sorry, Angela.  
><em>_**Angela:**__ I need to go. Give Rose a hug for me.  
><em>_**Bella: **__Okay. Take care._

I sat there, staring at the empty chat room for the longest time. We'd all had such glorious plans for our year abroad. So far, only Rose had achieved her dream—and it wasn't her original dream.

I wished I wasn't finding it so difficult to identify what my dream was. I'd lost it somewhere between a kiss on the hilltop and what should have been the most romantic night of my life. And now, I didn't know how to recapture the dream.


	19. Chapter NineteenNorte Dame

**Nineteen- Norte Dame**

_Bella_

"Did you see Disney's _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_?" Edward asked me.

We were standing at the West Front of what I figured was the most famous cathedral in the world.

In answer to his question, I simply arched an eyebrow.

He gave me his lopsided grin. "Stupid question. You probably have it on DVD," he speculated.

I smiled brightly. "That's right. I own all the animated movies that Disney has ever released. But I have it on Blu-ray, not DVD."

"You could have your own Disney film festival," he teased.

I shrugged, slightly embarrassed. "Most kids our age wouldn't be interested in animated movies."

"I am," he responded quickly.

And I knew he was. I was constantly amazed to discover how much we had in common. "Maybe when we get home, I'll have you over to watch them."

"Do that. I'll bring my Pixar collection."

Had I just set us up for a date? No way. I was not dating Edward Cullen. Ever. Not here in Paris and certainly not in Forks. Yet, here I was, as always, enjoying his company. I thought about how much more I would have enjoyed that fancy French restaurant if Edward had taken me. the conversation been so stilted or forced. Michael was nice, he really was, but I'd just never been able to relax.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and turned away from him. "Where's Rose?"

I scanned the sea of faces. So many people were coming to the cathedral today.

And then I saw her. Bouncing along, her smile bright. She was pretty tall, around five-foot-seven, long blond hair, and blue eyes. Emmett also had blue eyes, but he had black-brown hair, that was cut really short, and he was at least six-foot-one.

I remembered how horrified Rose was when we'd arrived at the airport in London, and she discovered that she didn't have a host sister, bit a really hot host brother, instead. But seeing them strolling towards me, her hand nestled in Emmett's, it looked like they were getting along really well now.

I knew the moment she spotted me. her eyes widened, she shrieked, and released Emmett's hand. She rushed up to me and hugged me tight.

"Bella! I'm _so_ glad to see you!" She announced loudly in her slight Texan accent.

Laughing, I leaned back. "What happened to whispering Rose?" I asked. While I had one layover in London, Rose had been trying desperately to keep her loud voice hidden and slight Texan accent from Emmett.

"She took pity on me," Emmett explained in a wonderful British accent that reminded me of Robert Pattinson.

"She finally decided to talk normally."

"Normally?" Rose slipped her arm around Emmett's waist and shook her head. "Can you believe this guy likes my accent?"

"I don't just like it; I _adore_ it," he told Rose.

I couldn't believe how happy they looked. Or how in love. It was incredible and wonderful to see. Rose had really been self-conscious about her accent. See, Rose wasn't born in Forks, Washington. She and her family moved to Forks from Texas when we were five years old. On the first day of Kindergarten, I noticed a girl with long blond hair sitting in the corner crying, so I went over to her and did my best to make her smile, and then Angela walked over to us and asked if she could join us, ever since then, all three of us have been best of friends.

I was glad to know that to Emmett, she was perfect.

Just like Edward. Edward with his love of art, cycling, and dreams to work for Pixar, and his dream to find the perfect French girl. He should be on his quest today, but here he was once again, with me.

I felt slightly guilty as I turned to him. "Do you remember Rosalie?"

He stepped closer to me, and my heart sped up.

"Sure do, we had English together last year."

Rose's eyes widened. "Oh, right. Edward."

I introduced him to Emmett, and then I didn't know what else to say. I knew Rose was wondering why I'd brought him. Even I wasn't sure why. The crazy thing was; I had just wanted to see him.

"You know, if we hurry," Edward announced, "we can catch the eleven-thirty tour of the towers." He looked at me. "If you're interested in seeing the gargoyles."

"Definitely," I admitted.

"I'll get the tickets." Then he turned to go.

"I'll go with you," Emmett said, and fell into step beside Edward.

As soon as the guys were out of hearing range, Rose grabbed my arm. "What is Edward Masen-Cullen doing here?"

I shrugged. "Just Edward Cullen. He dropped the Masen for France. He said it was too many names. Anyways, I invited him."

"Why?"

_That was a good question_. "I just thought it would be more comfortable if… we were an even number."

"No third-wheel sort of thing," Rose mused.

"Right," I jumped on that reasoning, had used it myself earlier.

"I don't remember him being so cute," she murmured. "You seem to have been spending a lot of time with him."

"We're just friends," I told her. "Besides, you know my plan: to be romanced by a French guy."

She slipped her arm through mine. "Yeah, and you knew my plan. To get rid of this horrid Texan accent. You see how well that plan worked out."

"You've got Emmett, don't you?" I questioned.

She grinned. "Yeah, I've got him. Just be careful that you don't get Edward."

~/YB\\~

Edward held my hand all the way up the staircase that led to the north tower. Three hundred and eighty-seven steps. Not that I counted.

But the view from the top made the journey worthwhile. We looked out on a magnificent view of Paris.

Edward's hand tightened on mine. "Wow."

I stepped closer to him. "It's incredible, isn't it?"

"You know we really need to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower before we leave Paris," he said quietly.

He'd said it as if we were couple, planning to do things together. We weren't. I glanced over at him.

"That's so touristy."

He raised an eyebrow. "And this isn't? Bella, we're tourist. Who knows when we'll come back to Paris?"

"Your right. Maybe we could go today while Rose is here." I suggested.

"Sure."

"Do you have that much time?"

He shrugged. "I have as much time as you need."

That was so typical Edward. Whatever I needed, he seemed willing to give me.

"Don't forget to let me know how much I owe you for the tickets," I told him.

"Don't be dense. I've been wanting to tour Norte Dame, just didn't want to do it by myself," he explained. "The tickets are on me."

"Hey, guys," Rose whispered loudly. "Come see the gargoyles."

"_Les __chimères__,"_ I corrected her.

She jerked her head. "What?"

"That's what the French call them," I explained.

She held up her hand. "Look, I don't need to learn French. I'm having a hard enough time learning to speak British."

"What are you talking about?" I asked. "The British speak English."

"Which isn't American. They use the same words, but they mean different things. Trust me, it's another language entirely," she retorted.

"And you're mastering it very well," Emmett assured her.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right. But enough about me. why would someone put something that hideous on a church?" she asked pointing at the gargoyles.

"I think they're cute," Edward and said at the same time.

I jerked my gaze to his. He simply shrugged and grinned. "Great minds think alike."

"Right," I murmured. It was scary—how much we thought alike. And how perfect it felt to still be holding hands as we looked at the gargoyles and out over Paris.

"Besides, they're rain spouts," Edward added. "When it rains, the rain pours out their mouths. Supposedly it sounds like they're talking then—'_glug, glug, glug.'_"

"I don't think I'd want to be up here while it's raining." Rose said.

I thought of standing in the rain with Edward the night he called his dad. I wouldn't mind being up here in the rain with him. Or anywhere in the rain with him. A troubling realization.

I didn't count the steps on the walk down. I figured they hadn't lost any during the time we were at the top of the tower. I did notice the way Rose and Emmett kept smiling to each other. Rose looked so incredibly happy and content.

But then, why shouldn't she? Her boyfriend was British! He wasn't from boring Forks, Washington.

I glanced over at Edward. _Why couldn't he have been French? _I thought.

* * *

><p><strong>End Of Chapter Notes:<br>**_Oh! I so love British Emmett!  
><em>

_What do you think? Let me know in a review!  
><em>


	20. Chapter Twenty Fessing Up

**Twenty-Fessing Up**

_Edward_

The cathedral of Norte Dame was incredible, with flying buttresses, stained-glass windows, incredible arches, and magnificent statues. I could have spent the whole day there. With Bella.

It was really funny, the way we oohed and awed over the same things. We looked at everything through the eyes of an artist. We appreciated everything with the same intensity.

I couldn't imagine touring a Gothic cathedral with anyone else.

I also realized that if Bella hadn't brought me along, she would have been the third wheel—not Emmett. He was majorly absorbed with Rosalie, and she with him.

I could tell Bella was a little bummed by that. After all, she'd been friends with Rosalie for a long time, and I figured she'd hoped for some serious girl talk while Rosalie was here.

It was mid-afternoon before we finished our tour of the cathedral. We decided to head toward the Eiffel Tower. After we ate at a café along the way, we'd ride the elevator all the way to the top. A total day of being tourist.

On our way to the métro that would get us to the tower in about ten minutes, we passed street vendors and flower carts. I decided to buy Bella some flowers to cheer her up a little. She wasn't frowning or anything, but I knew that today wasn't all she'd hoped it would be.

I tugged on her hand. "Come on; let me get you a flower."

She chuckled. "_A_ flower? As in _one_? Solitary? Single?"

"Sure, you don't want to have to carry a dozen around all day," I explained. Besides, the one flower, I didn't figure I could be accused of being romantic or coming on to her. One flower was harmless.

The vendor's cart had a whole range of flowers: tulips, carnations, roses, Gerba daisies, and a slew of other flowers I didn't know the name for.

She looked over the blossoms. "Hmmm. One flower. Let me see. I like roses."

"Yeah, but I sent you a dozen yesterday. Seems like you'd want some variety."

"Shit, crap, fuck," I cursed under my breath as it hit me what I'd confessed. I spoke quickly, trying to cover my blunder. "Roses are fine. What color?"

She snatched her hand out of mine. It was the first time we weren't touching in almost four hours. Strange how much I suddenly missed that loss of contact. She planted her hands on her hips. "_You_ sent the roses?"

I shook my head. "I don't know what I was thinking. I meant to say that Michael sent you roses." I quirked an eyebrow, trying to look innocent. "Didn't he?"

She nodded thoughtfully, but she looked troubled. "Interesting that when the topic came up last night, he didn't remember sending them. Why is that, do you think?" she asked.

"The guy did so much to be romantic that sending the roses probably just slipped his mind," I lied, hoping she'd drop the subject. I didn't want to ruin whatever fond memories she had of her date with Michael, even though they didn't seem to be many.

"A pink carnation," she said softly.

"The florist sent only a pink carnation?" I demanded. Those flowers had cost me a fortune.

She tilted her head slightly, still studying me. "No, I'll take a pink carnation now."

Relief swamped me. "Oh, right." I jerked one out of the cart, paid the vendor, and handed it to Bella.

I watched her sniff at it, all the while her eyes never leaving mine. I wished I knew what she was thinking. Hoped she thought Michael had sent the flowers. How could I be so careless?

"Bella! Look what Emmett bought me," Rosalie announced.

Bella turned around. Rosalie was holding about two dozen flowers, all varieties, and various colors. And Bella held one scraggly-looking carnation.

"Aren't they gorgeous?" Rosalie crooned. "Isn't Emmett just the sweetest guy?"

Bella smiled. "He's the sweetest."

Now I felt like a complete loser. Rosalie took Emmett's hand, and they started walking away. I touched Bella's shoulder. She glanced back at me.

I jerked my thumb toward the flower cart. "You want some more? Giving you just one was so stupid and cheap. Pick out some more."

She shook her head slowly, and looked at the flower. "This one's perfect." Then she lifted her gaze to me. "Thanks, Edward."

She reached up and kissed my cheek. Then she took my hand. "Let's go eat."

I fell into step beside her, and the most insane thought flashed through my mind.

_Why couldn't I have been French?_


	21. Chapter TwentyOneTrue Meaning

**Twenty-One- True Meaning of Romance**

_Bella_

Edward guided us toward a cozy looking little café with outdoor seating. I don't know why, but it just seemed when in Paris, I should eat outside beneath the umbrella.

Rose shrieked when she saw the menu—all in French.

I laughed.

"How am I gonna know what to order? She asked. "I was hoping for bubble and squeak or toad in the hole."

I stared at her. "What?"

She tilted up her nose. "See? I told you it wasn't easy to understand British."

"You eat those things?" I asked.

She nodded. "Every chance I get. So what should we eat here?"

I glanced over at Edward. He blushed. "I can translate only about half the menu," he offered.

"That should be good enough," Emmett said. "I fancy some sort of sandwich."

Edward began to translate, and by the time the waiter came over, we'd decided on four _croque__-__monsieur_— these really yummy ham and cheese sandwiches I couldn't get enough of.

"We are really daredevils," I murmured when the waitress walked away.

"Hey, we crossed the Pacific," Rose reminded me. "That was pretty daring."

"Yes," I had to admit. "It was."

The waiter brought over our drinks. Rose stared at the glasses and pitcher.

"What is all of this?" she asked.

"The closest thing I've come to lemonade," I explained. "They give you fresh lemon juice, and you mix it with water and sugar syrup."

Rose nodded. "Interesting."

We all mixed up s round, and Rose nodded again.

"Not bad." She leaned forward. "You know, when I filled out my application for this program, I expected there to be some cultural differences, but I didn't realize how subtle some of them would be or how many."

I smiled warmly. "Me either."

"What have you found to be the hardest thing to do over here, Edward?" she prodded.

He glanced at me. the right side of his mouth tipped up, and for some reason, my heart played a tap dance along my ribs. His green eyes twinkled. "Take off my shirt in class."

"What?" Rose asked.

"Our sketching class," I explained. "The guys had to remove their shirts so we could sketch . . . the body."

"Whoa. And I thought getting up in front of the class and revealing my goals for the year was hard," Rose told us.

"Did you have to remove your shirt?" Emmett asked me, wagging his eyebrows. Rose elbowed him in the stomach and told him to hush.

I felt my face turn hot as I nodded.

"But she got to wear a bathing suit underneath," Edward muttered.

"No fair!" Emmett exclaimed.

"That's what I said," Edward chimed in.

Thankfully, our sandwiches arrived and everyone was too busy stuffing their faces to talk much. My gaze continued to drift between Edward and the carnation. And the intense way that he studied the people at the table.

And I knew, I knew in my heart, that he was going to sketch this moment.

When we finished eating, we headed to the Eiffel Tower. As we got close, Edward asked Emmett to run ahead of him.

"It _is_ getting late," Emmett said as he glanced at the time on his phone. "I suppose we should go check on the line to the lift."

"The lift?" Edward asked.

"The elevator," Rose said. "We'll wait for you over there." She pointed to a spot under the tower.

"Gotcha," Edward said. He leaned toward me and whispered, "We'll take our time so you can visit with Rosalie."

Then he and Emmett went in search of the elevator, and I had what I'd waited for so long—some time alone with Rose t would span more than a couple of minutes. And Edward had somehow known that's what I wanted, and he'd made an excuse to get himself and Emmett out of the way.

"I don't remember Edward being so nice," Rose told me. I heard a bafflement in her voice.

I twirled my solitary carnation. "I've got a problem, Rose."

Her brow creased. "What?"

"I think I love him," I blurted out.

"And that's a problem because…?" she inquired.

"He doesn't want a relationship. He wants a French girl. Someone who speaks only a little English. Someone with willing lips." I spat out the last part. It still irked me that he was looking for _that_.

"Did he tell you that?" she asked as a bunch of French schoolchildren paraded by.

"Yes," I admitted sulkily. "When I told him that I wanted a French guy."

"You told him that?"

I nodded. "Like I told you on Skype, he set me up with his host brother. I think he may have even paid for some of the date. And he is definitely the one who sent the flowers."

"You're kidding?"

I shook my head. It was crazy. I didn't know to be happy or sad. Here was this guy doing all these things for me, and he wasn't my boyfriend. But suddenly, I wanted him to be. Even if he wasn't French.

"Bella, he _obviously_ likes you," Rose said quietly.

I snapped my gaze to hers. "As a friend."

"I think more than that," she told me.

I heard familiar English-speaking voices. First Edward's, then Emmett's. So much for taking their time. I really needed Rose's advice on what to do.

But there wasn't time to ask her any more questions. The guys came over, and Emmett looked really bummed.

"It's a two-hour wait to get to the top," he announced. "I'm terribly sorry, Rose, but we're going to have to head back home before that."

She shrugged. "That's okay. Maybe we can come back."

"I wish you would," I told her. I felt tears start to sting my eyes. It was always so hard to say goodbye to my friends.

She gave me a hug, and I hugged her back—tightly.

"Romance is in the air," she whispered.

For her, maybe. Not for me. All my dreams for this year were crumbling.

We broke apart, and she cradled her bouquet of flowers and slipped her hand in Emmett's.

"Cheerio," she called out with a British accent.

I turned to Edward. "Thanks for coming."

"It was fun." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "So, why is it that the British seem to always have to say something about cereal when they leave?"

I smiled. "Cheerio, means goodbye. You dimwit!"

"I know that. Just wanted to see you smile." He admitted. "So, did you want to go to the top?"

I grimaced. "It's a two-hour wait."

"Yeah, but we aren't going anywhere. Unless you've got a hot date," he remarked.

I laughed. "No. how about you?"

He gave me that sexy lopsided grin. "Nope." Then he took my hand. "Let's be tourist a little longer."

~/ /YB\ \~

We waited in line for a little over two hours, and we talked the entire time; about everything; home, Forks, school, Paris, and dreams.

And we held hands.

Finally our turn came to climb into the double-Decker yellow elevator and ride to the top of the tower.

My hand tightened around Edward's as we began the ascent. Riding up the tower was not a good idea if you are afraid of heights. The third level, which houses the viewing gallery, was 899 feet above the ground.

_That's a lot of feet,_ I thought as everything below us kept getting smaller, and smaller, and smaller.

When we reached the top, my heart was pounding a mile a minute. I glanced over at Edward. He seemed okay with the height. "We are _really_ high up," I said inanely.

"Be glad it's not a hot day," he suggested. "On hot days the tower is six inched higher due to the metal expanding."

"This is quite high enough, thank you," I said as we stepped out onto the platform.

And my breath nearly left my lungs. The sun was setting, painting a golden glow over Paris. We walked to the railings and simply stood. My back to his chest, his arms around me.

In silence, with no need to say anything.

We watched the sun disappear beyond the horizon and knew it would be another eight hours before our families watched it disappear. In a tapestry of colors the sky faded into black, and one by one, the stars came out.

I sighed deeply. "That is so beautiful."

"Just like you," he said quietly.

I turned to face him, and he kept his arms around me. I studied his face in the shadows of the night.

"You're going to sketch a picture of me and Rose at the café, aren't you?" I asked.

"Probably."

I took a deep breath. "Edward, why didn't you turn in your sketch of the tower that you did that day on the hilltop?"

"Because I didn't draw the tower. I drew you."

"I can't believe you did that when you had all of Paris—"

"Bella, I want dibs on you when we get home," he blurted out.

Stunned, I stared at him. "What? Dibs?"

_How unromantic is that? _

"Like calling me for the window seat on the airplane?"

He shook his head briskly. "No, nothing like that. It didn't come out right. I just mean that after this year is up, and we get back to Forks, I want to date you."

"You want to date me?" I repeated.

"Yes. You're driving me fucking crazy. I think about you all the time. You're not what I want. Or at least, not what I _thought_ I wanted." He plowed hand roughly through his hair, tugging at it a lightly.

"Look, I'm not French, and I'm not a romantic guy. But I thought maybe once this year is over, since whatever guy you hook up with won't be in Forks, that maybe you'd consider dating me."

I was completely floored, and I didn't know what to say to his crazy proposition. "You're going to wait a year to date me," I said tentatively.

"Yeah, I understand your dream Bella. Paris. Romance. There's probably no other time in your life when you can have all that you'll have this year. That's why I set you up with Michael, tried to make sure he did everything romantic. I want you to have the romance you're looking for," he explained.

He released his hold on me and stepped back.

"I'd just like to know that you'd consider going out with me when we get home," he said softly.

I nodded, still unable to believe what he'd said.

"A whole year," I reiterated.

"I'm not saying it'll be easy for me, watching some French guy romance you." I watched him swallow. "But I want you to have your dream."

I felt tears burn the back of my eyes. "Are you still going to look for you French dream girl?"

He shook his head. "I was miserable with Lauren. I wanted a temporary relationship with a French girl, someone who would make me forget about my parents' divorce, and forget about Tanya. The only time it doesn't hurt is when I'm with you."

I couldn't believe this. I sounded like an echo as I asked again, "And you're going to wait a _year_ to be with me?"

He nodded solemnly. "I understand your dream, Bella. I want you to have it. I'd just like a little spark of hope that once you've realized you're dream . . . you might make some time for me."

My chest ached with all he was willing to give up for me. "I can't do that, Edward."

He gave me a sad smile. "That's okay. I understand. A year is a long time."

"_Exactly_. And I don't want to wait that long to be with you," I said quietly.

His eyes widened. "What?"

I took a step closer to him. "You're the most romantic guy I know."

"Hardly," he mumbled.

I looked at the carnation. He grimaced. "I should have bought you more."

I shook my head. "No, you shouldn't have. Don't you see? That's the point. I thought I knew what romance was, but I was wrong. It's not flowers, or poetry, or chocolate. It's someone you can talk with and feel comfortable around. With Michael you tried to give me what I wanted. And now you're trying to step back so I can have my dream. When all I really want . . . is _you._"

"You want me?" he rasped. "Now?"

I smiled tenderly. "Now. Tomorrow. That day after that."

He slipped his arms around me and drew me close to him. "Bella, I don't want you to give up your dream."

"Edward, don't you get it? _You're _my dream."

The corner of his mouth lifted. "I am?"

Smiling warmly, I nodded. "Yeah, you are."

He lowered his head and pressed his lips to mine, so warm and sweet. I slid my arms around his neck, and he deepened the kiss in that slow, lazy way of his. No hurry, no rush, just heat, passion . . . and romance.

Because here I was at the top of the Eiffel Tower, a star-filled night above me the dazzling lights of the city below us, and the willing lips of the guy I loved playing over mine.

It was strange how the realization that I loved Edward just wove itself into my mind, and so easily, as if something in my heart had always known.

Edward rained kisses along my cheek until he reached my ear.

He whispered huskily, "_Je t__'__aime__."_

I love you.

My heart melted.

"I love you too," I said softly.

He returned his lips to mine, and I thought this moment was _the_ most romantic moment I'd ever experienced.

And the best part was . . . Edward would be there when my year in Paris came to an end.

* * *

><p><strong>End Chapter Notes:<strong>  
>Finally their together! And that concludes the story! I can't believe my first FanFic is done!<p>

Now as promised, here's the summary for my next story; _Summer Love_:

_Edward and Bella have been best friends since they were young, they always spent their summers at their family's beach house. But this summer is different. Edward has changed, physically, and Bella has changed physically too. Both Edward and Bella are determined to have a summer Romance, only Edward's idea is to hook-up with as many girls as possible. But something has changed between the two; can the summer romance of Bella's dreams be right under her nose? And does Edward have feelings for Bella that go beyond friendship?_


End file.
